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sundaycentric · 7 months

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I need fluff can you write yandere dan heng and if you do 2 Neuvillete (idk how to spell his name 😭)

Sorry if this goes over the rules you could ignore I loveee yandere dan heng hehe

(separate yandere) dan heng & neuvillette x gn reader

content ★ headcanons, minific, yandere, not proof read, gn reader, reader has hair in dan heng's part, sfw, fluff?

note ★ i love yandere hcs.. idk what it is i just eat them up every single time. but sorry for my recent inactivity ?!?! i rushed these a bit tho.. hope theyre still good </3 mainly just put my thoughts down :(

DAN HENG ★

Dan Heng knows what it's like. He knows what it's like to be locked up, forced away from the outside world. He knows what it's like to be alone and scared. He knows what it's like to have someone watch your every move. Dan Heng knows what it would be like for you. Yet, he can't shake the thoughts and desires to take you.

Dan Heng knows it's wrong. He can sympathize, which is probably why he tried to deny it all in the first place. However, he's been so selfless. He accepted punishment without complaint. He helps around the Astral Express so much. It's hard for Dan Heng to not be selfish this once and indulge in his love.

That is if he can even call it love. Dan Heng tried to deny his feelings for you first. He knew how hard it would be, even without expecting the obsession to come along with it. His draconic heritage makes him more possessive than the average lover. They hoard what they love, and it includes their mates as well.

Dan Heng can't avoid it entirely, though. Being without you feels like an even worse punishment than his banishment. With you, he feels something he has never felt before. Dan Heng can no longer deny his love for you, even if it may be more than that.

You might notice him giving extra attention to you. It is never anything big, but rather small things. Dan Heng looks at you a bit longer. He smiles slightly when you talk. He stands closer to you. He won't flinch away when you grab his hand. He'll let you into the Archives. Dan Heng will treat you differently.

He is still silent as ever, but he is more relaxed around you. At the same time, he feels more tense, though. Dan Heng doesn't want to push you away. He'll take his time with you.

In his dragon form, his thoughts are even worse. It is harder to suppress his desire for you. Especially when he already begins to subconsciously think of you as his mate. This is when things get a bit more severe. He's less controlled.

Dan Heng's tail might loosely wrap around your ankle as if you'd run. He'll glare at people he thinks are too close. He'll only go where you go. He'll favor you and always find a way to defend you. Things like this are much more noticeable as his love grows.

The Archives have a lot more entries about you. Your physical description, personality, hobbies, interests, and moods all have their own extensive pages. When he can't be with you, he'll simply write or read about you. Dan Heng will find himself reading over your information if he can't go to sleep.

At this point, Dan Heng knows it is more than love. He knows he is obsessed with you. But he doesn't care all that much. He feels something, something that isn't cold. Something that feels good and warm in his heart, even if it is terribly wrong in his brain. He's given up on trying to suppress it. He simply can't, so Dan Heng embraces it. He embraces you. He loves you.

If you do end up loving Dan Heng as well, he will be overjoyed. You can't see it on his face, but the way his tail tightly coils around your waist tells you otherwise. He isn't too big on physical touch normally, but he will always have some kind of touch on you.

He'll get a bit overbearing. He doesn't want to see you hurt. It's dangerous trailblazing. Dan Heng needs you.

If you find out the extent of his love, he might finally lose the rest of his self-restraint. You'd probably run. He doesn't want that. He won't let that happen. You're his now.

Dan Heng gently ran his fingers through your hair, playing with it. You sat down in front of him with his tail securely wrapped around your waist. Your back snugly pressed against his chest. Both of you breathed slowly, enjoying the moment.

"Dan Heng?" You asked. He did not respond. He only continued to mess with your hair. You couldn't see his expression, how he looked at you with utter love in his eyes. He was thinking.

"Dan Heng..?" You question softly. This time, Dan Heng seems to have heard your words. His fingers stop for a moment as he blinks.

"Yes, what is it?" His fingers resume once he speaks. They softly pull through any tangles, Dan Heng paying extra attention to make sure he doesn't hurt you. His tail lightly twitched around your waist.

"I was thinking about going on the Luofu with March and..." You didn't get to finish your sentence as Dan Heng's grip on your hair tightened. It hurt a bit, as his fist pulled on your hair unknowingly. Dan Heng's voice came next.

"No," he said. Dan Heng's voice was far colder than it usually was. He sounded angry and disappointed and upset. It was impossible for you to turn to see his expression with his hand holding your head straight. Dan Heng repeated, "No. It's too dangerous. The.. Stellaron Hunters are there. He is there. If something happens to you, you will never be able to best him in a fight. You need to stay here, where it's safe. Besides, March and the others don't need you. They can do this alone."

Dan Heng's words came out harsher than he was meaning to, but he was too busy worrying about you to realize. He shuddered slightly, imagining what it would be like if you were Blade's next victim. It wasn't hard to figure out Dan Heng is attached to you, so perhaps he would go for you to get to Dan Heng. The thought sickened him. He never wanted to see you in pain like he had to be. Slowly, his grip loosened as he went back to playing with your hair.

However, you were also a bit uneasy. Dan Heng's tone was off, and he had been acting weird recently. You spoke after a few minutes of silence, "I'm feeling tired... I'm going to go to sleep in my room now, Heng."

"Hm," Dan Heng hums, "No. I think you will sleep in here from now on."

NEUVILLETTE ★

Neuvillette also knows it's wrong. What he stays up at night thinking of is illegal. It goes against everything he does in life. Yet, he would never think it would feel so good.

Neuvillette has never been a selfish man. For hundreds of years, he upheld justice for others. He was always fair and righteous, even when it hurt. However, Neuvillette has never really wanted anything specific in the first place. Yes, he yearns to understand himself and others, but he has never felt that carnal desire to own something.

That is, until he met you of course. Suddenly, he felt something he'd never felt before. It was weird, bubbling in his chest sweetly. It made his heart ache with yearning. It almost felt a bit painful, but it was also so enjoyable. He wanted more of it.

You made him feel something he has yet to grasp. He may not understand emotions well, but he knows what certain ones are. But this, he does not know. You made Neuvillette feel something new. Something that made him feel a bit more alive. As if you were the purpose, the reason he was born.

Neuvillette tries to dismiss these thoughts, but it's hard. He must focus on his duties, but he often thinks of you in the moments between work. He knows it's wrong. But it doesn't feel bad. It feels good. So, is it really that wrong?

Neuvillette is still very busy, though. He will get the melusines to spy on you, which they happily accept. Neuvillette often tells them about you since he doesn't have anyone else he can tell. It's gotten to the point where alongside seeing Neuvillette as their father of sorts, they see you as a parent as well. Of course, they think, you must be the monsieur's spouse. They certainly have no issue with simply ensuring their 'parent's' safety, after all.

Neuvillette never corrects them. After all, it makes him feel warm inside. Marriage sounds nice. A legal contract, bounding you to each other forever. Suddenly, Neuvillette seems to pay more attention to marriage documents and trials related to it.

He will never say anything first. Ever. Even though Neuvillette wants you badly, he will not break his moral code and risk doing something irrational. He likely wouldn't either way, but he worries. Especially when it comes to you.

Neuvillette is very protective of you. He wasn't very big on touch, but now he likes to have some sort of contact with you. Holding your hand, arm, waist, finger, whatever it may be. It helps him make sure you're okay. It's been so long since he's felt affection like that, and he tries to get you to spoil him with it sometimes.

He loves it so much when you treat the melusines like they are your children. Maybe one day you can have children together. Whether it's biological or adoption, he doesn't care. Neuvillette wants to be with you however he can.

And once the prophecy kicks off entirely, you're never leaving his sight again. Even if you're not from Fontaine, there's still a risk and uncertainty. Neuvillette won't let you slip away. He can't. He'll pamper you, do whatever you ask of him (besides letting you go), but he just needs you to stay where he knows you're safe.

If you try to leave, then good luck. It'll be raining. Hard. You can barely even walk without getting soaked. It's never been this bad in Fontaine before.. but as soon as Neuvillette sees you again, it's unbearably sunny. The weather is quite extreme.

You're his mate after all. Why are you even trying to leave him, if you are? This is your home now. Neuvillette sighs, perhaps you're just nervous. It's okay, though. He figures you need to adjust.

He won't care if you find out how much he loves you. Why does it matter? Of course, he loves his mate.

"I forbid you," Neuvillette stares you down, "My dear, please, come back over here. I'd hate to request a guard to block the door."

You stop in your tracks, not doubting Neuvillette's words. You could feel his gaze burning into your skull. It scared you. He was incredibly powerful, and it would be best to comply with him, no?

You turned around. He smiled gently, "Good. Now come, sit back down, mon ange (my angel)."

You listen to him, slowly walking back towards him. You sit on the couch next to his desk before he sighs. The rain gets a bit harder.

"You know that's not your seat," he murmurs. And you know exactly what he means. Neuvillette waits for you to return to him, and sit on his lap—your seat. You do.

"There," Neuvillette breathes out on your neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into your neck. The rain alleviates, slowing. You shake a bit in his grasp, either from his breathing or your possible fear.

"Shh.. it's okay, mon cœur (my heart), is it that you're cold..?" Neuvillette asks sweetly, before holding you tighter. "I'll warm you up, my love. Just stay with me.."

His hands begin to rub circles into your back as he flips you over. Neuvillette isn't manhandling you roughly, but he does it with such ease. It may not be purposeful, but it's a reminder of just how much stronger he is than you. After all, he is a dragon. He uses his glove hand to gently push you against his chest. Neuvillette effectively trapped you in his warm grasp.

"Neuvillette.." You say softly, "There is no need to hold me like a lifeline."

He smiles but doesn't loosen his grip. "I beg to differ. After all, I don't think I could live without you, so you are my lifeline, no? My lifeline and my mate.."

Neuvillette's voice is longing. You won't be able to get out of this any time soon. The rain disappears alongside your smile (or frown).

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queenvhagar · 2 months

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At Driftmark, Jacaerys and Lucerys attack Aemond with a knife not out of a need for self-defense, like many will argue. Instead, Jacaerys draws the blade and Lucerys uses it to slash Aemond's eye out because of their desire for retribution for what Aemond said about them and their real father during the fight. It was wanting to hurt Aemond, not an immediate need to survive, that led to the blade being drawn and used on Aemond's face and eye specifically.

After claiming the world's largest living dragon, following years of being mocked for not being a dragonrider and continually risking his life to get a dragon, Aemond comes back to the castle pretty confident in himself. Before he gets to his room, a group of other four children, including two boys who made fun of him in the past, stop him. The girls physically attack him first, for having claimed Vhagar and for his confident, unbothered response to their words. After defending himself from these initial attacks, the boys join in. Even though he's a couple of years older than the other children, he is overcome by four people attacking him at once. At one point, he is pushed to the ground and relentlessly kicked and punched by all four children at once. Eventually managing to push the attackers back, Aemond finds and raises a rock, posturing that he will use it to defend against further attacks, and to hurt the boys back he mocks the boys for their true parentage and the recent death of their actual father, saying they would one day "die screaming in flames" like their father did (an objectively terrible thing to say, to be sure). However, once he realizes Lucerys doesn't know his true parentage, Aemond lowers the rock that he has held high.

It is at this point - rock lowered, bastard named - that Jacaerys pulls the blade that he brought with him. Despite Aemond lowering the rock and backing off, Jacaerys is angry, and he wants to hurt Aemond for what he said. In response to the drawn blade, Aemond knocks Lucerys back with his left hand and uses then uses the rock in his right hand to incapacitate Jacaerys and stop him from using the knife against him.

But Aemond is not dumb - in fact, in his first two episodes he has demonstrated that he has the most awareness of all the kids. Aemond shows that he understands the political advantage of Targaryens marrying sibling to sibling, the duty a prince has to serve the realm, and the importance of being a dragonrider as a Targaryen. He understood the potentially deadly, yet infinitely rewarding if successful, opportunity presented to him when he heard Vhagar, the dragon his grandfather claimed, calling out from the beach and nobody was there to stop him from going to her. Aemond has also doubtlessly heard his mother talk about their family's precarious political position, and he's observed the favoritism his father the king shows to his eldest daughter, the named heir to the throne. Aemond understands that there would be severe consequences for him (and potentially his family) if any serious harm were to come to any of Rhaenyra's own, so while he fights to incapacitate his attackers in the fight, Aemond knows that he cannot use the rock or any other weapon to seriously harm or disable Rhaenyra's sons even if he wanted to. So he uses the rock to knock down his armed assailant after a blade is drawn against him, and then he raises it a final time in question. Are they going to come at him again? If he were fighting to truly hurt, disfigure, or kill the boys out of anger or contempt at their parentage, Aemond could have pressed the attack immediately and used the rock against the boys. But at this point Aemond is only still fighting because the attacks keep coming at him. Instead, he stays where he is and raises the rock as a warning: come at me again and I will use this to fend you off. Having just become Vhagar's new rider, he already feels that he has won against the other children. He is unbeatable - there is no need for him to viciously attack the children while they're down to show that he has won the fight against them. He is older, he has a dragon, and he has withstood all of their attacks. At this moment, Aemond is waiting for their next move, whatever it may be.

If Rhaenyra's sons had yielded and stopped coming at Aemond at this point or any point before it, the fight would be done. Now, rock lowered, Aemond standing still, there is no immediate need for self-defense. Any further attack against Aemond could not be considered the boys defending themselves. But Jacaerys and Lucerys don't feel the need to defend their lives against a perceived imminent mortal threat. At this moment, they want to get back at Aemond. For claiming Vhagar. For hitting the girls back when they first came at him. For the blows Aemond landed back against them. And above all, for naming them as illegitimate and mocking their true father's death. They want to win this fight, and they want Aemond to hurt for what he said and did. That's the real reason Jacaerys draws the blade, and that's the real reason they do what they do next.

So it is then that the boys resume their attack, with Jacaerys throwing the sand at Aemond's eyes to disorient him and Lucerys grabbing the knife and slashing Aemond right across his eye. Not in the leg or the arm, which might have prevented him from fighting back again and ostensibly saved them from Aemond using a rock against them. No, Lucerys grabs the knife and slices up and across the entire side of Aemond's face, cutting his eye in the process. The goal of this attack is to maim and injure Aemond, not to save themselves from further harm by him.

And what is the fallout from this event? Aemond sees just how much danger his family is in when it comes to his father's preference for his eldest daughter and his eldest sister's willingness to defend her own at all costs. He sees his eldest sister, the heir to the throne, offer for him to be tortured so he would incriminate his own mother and have her punished for talking in private about the crimes that his elder sister has done and is doing. He sees his father the king turn on him and rage against Aemond, his mother, and his brother in front of the entire court about something everyone knows to be true but will not speak out loud. He sees that not only are his sister and her sons not the least bit regretful or apologetic for the serious harm and disability their own family member faces because of their actions, even years later, but also that absolutely no consequences will be felt by his attackers ever for their role in the confrontation because the truth of his eldest sister's crimes was mentioned by Aemond during the fight and that, in their eyes, justifies her sons deciding to use a knife to disfigure him in retribution. Because the king will support his eldest sister and her sons above all else, they can do whatever they want and get away with it, no matter who gets hurt in the process, because the king is weak and will not hold his daughter to any accountability for anything she or her children decide to do.

It's of course this pivotal moment all of the Greens but especially Aemond realize that his and his family's ultimate survival in the impending succession crisis is at the hands of people who could not care less about their well-being and safety. Little wonder that Aemond from this point trained to be the ultimate fighter. Who else would defend him and his family from something like this - or worse - that could happen in the future?

#aemond targaryen #team green #pro team green #anti team black #anti rhaenyra targaryen

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safely-in-vhagars-belly · 5 months

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''Fight and Die'' Slightly darkAemond x AFAB Reader

Aemond x fem oc/reader

Tags: Show setting, abusive brother (but its not aemond) mentioned of forced marriages and duels, mentions of parental loss.

🔷Summary: Your ancestors once betrayed the Targaryens and paid a high price. Now you are back at court with your brother, who hopes to sell you in exchange for his freedom.

🔷Author's note: It might still be a little darkish but not as dark as usual. I think this is the closest to show aemond I ever got. So he still is not a unicorn yall but he is at least imo he is decent and nice.

🔷Wordcount :3934

You never set foot in King’s Landing before.

Not before the exile of your family almost a century ago.

The Marthryralys were once the most trusted advisors of the Targaryens.

Until your ancestor, Daeyor Marthyralys sided with the false king, King Maegor. He had been burned after Maegor had died, and your family was banished out of King’s Landing, and the Seven Kingdoms.

For years you lived across the narrow sea, in a small village in Pentos together with your brother and the heir of your house, Prince Fryand Marthyralys. He has everything you can expect in a trueborn Valyrian prince. Silver hair, bright eyes in a shade almost close to violet and a temper befitting a god, not an exiled prince.

‘’Chin up, sister.’’ He tells you with a smirk as you pass by several nobles and guards, servants and maids alike who all stare at you with judgment. They likely heard stories about your family. Stories of their treason and kinslaying murder and pillaging. ‘’Remember what I told you earlier this morning. Today is the day our family’s legacy will be reborn.’’ That is what he hopes. You hope your brother achieves this alliance. For as long as you can recall he wanted this.

Fyrand sighs before perfecting your hair, putting a loose lock behind your ears. “You be quiet unless I allow it. If you ruin this for me, the consequences could be dire. For both of us, but especially for you.” The glare he gives you says enough. You give an absent nod, staring at your own bitten down fingernails. Fyrand follows your gaze, scoffing with a deep sigh. ‘’And quit that. I didn’t keep you alive all these years so you can fuck this up.’’

The grant doors to the throne room are opened by guards and someone announces to you both as you hesitantly follow your brother. ‘’Lord Fyrand of House Marthyralys, and his sister, Lady Revaera of House Marthyralys.’’ It is one of the few times you hear yourself being called a lady, or even your first name. Fyrand does not bother with kindness and ceremony. He calls you whatever he likes, especially when he is drunk and in a bad mood.

By the throne, several people with silver hair wait. Yet you can easily divide them into two groups. One group wears subtle or not so subtle green accessories. And the other group wears about any other color but green. The Princess's party and the Queen's party. You know this from what Fyrand briefly told you about the Targaryens. The two parties do not like each other very much. Details are vague to you, as Fyrand didn’t want ‘’to corrupt your moral compass with nonsense that is none of your business anyway’’.

You know they are the royal family of Westeros. The Targaryens. Once close friends of your family, now look at you both. You do not know these people and they do not know you. They stare at you with the same confusion and questions you have deep down. You see it mirrored in their eyes and their hearts they carry on their sleeves. You keep your eyes on your soft slippers and faithfully remain close to your brother, afraid of these strange people. They killed your parents. They killed your ancestors. They killed your dragons. ‘’Your grace.’’ Fyrand speaks, full of servitude as he bows down for the silver haired corpse like man that sits the throne.

Or rather the throne sits him. The throne is a monstrosity in the worst way of the word. It does not look like a comfortable chair to you. Perhaps that is what it symbolizes. That ruling is no comfortable chair. It is not easy. It requires sacrifice, usually the worst kind. The kind where lives are lost and doomed.

The smell of poppy is heavy near the king and you assume he uses it regularly to dull his pain. He hangs half defeated, half consumed by the Stranger on his throne, his glare growing every minute that passes when you both are here. You continue ripping your nails subtly.

‘’We let traitors in now?’’ A man comments, near who you assume can only be the Princess Rhaenyra. She is described as the most fashionable woman in Westeros, with silver, pale locks she often carries in Targaryen fashion. Her gown symbolizes a dragon, with her house colors, red and black. It has nice details and you take them all in. The man itself has shorter hair than his wife, although Fyrand would say it would still be too long for a male. He carries a sword around his hips, and wears a black armor as well. You guess by his age that this can only be Prince Daemon Targaryen, the King’s brother, the Princess’s her uncle as well as her husband. ‘’These two should be hanged outside and for the birds to peck out their eyes.’’

While you feel fear rise Fyrand laughs it off, as a joke. The king is not so quick to judge you as his brother. He even smiles at you. ‘’You are the spitting image of your ancestor, Grysalda the Bold.’’ Out of both of you, he chose you to compliment.

Your brother boils in his skin next to you, yet fakes a smile and peacefulness. ‘’Both fierce and stunning.’’ The King finishes. Grysalda was indeed both fierce and bold. She had a total of five husbands and flew the dragon Gravemaker. There was nothing she couldn't do if she didn't set her mind to it. She was said to be a great beauty. Men fought wars to lay eyes on her, Men conquered towns in her name and men would murder everyone that dared to oppose her. She was an interesting woman, although it is disputed whether or not she was a good one.

You make a small curtsy, swayed by the words yet wary of their meaning. Grysalda was a threat to the Targaryens. Is this a compliment or a very twisted warning? But to not acknowledge such a compliment would be rude. ‘’Thank you, your grace-’’

‘’Be quiet, sister.’’ Fyrand interrupts almost mumbling so the others won't hear. You close your mouth right away and let him speak instead. ‘’I have come with an offer for House Targaryen and House Velyaron.” He folds his hands on his back. You wonder if his offer is good enough for an alliance. You know what he will offer. You. He will offer you to one of the Princes of either party and he hopes that in return they will allow him to stay in Westeros.

Prior to this offer, no interest was shown by both parties. This changes instantly. Princess Rhaenyra turns into a woman dressed in Velyaron colors. Princess Rhaenys, you assume. Her granddaughters look on as well and even the Greens on the Queens side are surprised.

King Viserys sits up as straight as his sickness allows him. “You are bold.” You hear your brother laugh. You do not join him, your eyes constantly wandering to the interesting people around you. The princes and the princesses, the Queen and the King and their children.

‘’It is in our blood, I’ve been told by my lovely servants.’’ You think back of all the servants that nurtured you and Fryand when you were safely in Pentos and beyond. You are thankful for them, but there was only so much they could do to protect you from Fyrand. ‘’Since you ordered the death of my parents all those years ago.” Fryand smirks hiding the pain very well. The light in his eyes has died a long time ago. Nothing can bring it back.

The only sound that can be heard is Otto Hightower clearing his throat. “Are you here to dig up the past? I seem to recall your parents were planning my death.’’ The king is right. They were. You were almost a baby when the treason was committed but it was committed nonetheless. Your own mother died in childbirth and your father remarried quickly almost the day after.

You have known your brother for a long time. He is a dramatic man. He enjoys having power and enjoys playing with people. He will not tell them right away. He will toy with them first. ‘’I’m here for no such thing.’’

The Princess looks at you, as if you know more of this masterplan. You do, but you do not dare to speak again. ‘’I am here to ally my house with House Targaryen.’’ And with that, he hopes to restore your family’s legacy. All those years of planning in exile, all those years on the run all come down to this crucial moment. Was it enough? Or will you both hang before the sun sets?

‘’And why would we ally you?’’ The King asks, which is reasonable. They have dragons. You do not. They have a kingdom. You do not. You only have a freshly gathered army with questionable loyalties as they fight for gold and power.

Fyrand grins. ‘’It’s quite simple. I have built quite the legendary army, across the Narrow sea, in the Stepstones and far far beyond. Men are calling me Aegon reborn.’’ He grins at Prince Aegon, taunting him with this accomplishment. Aegon does not care, judging by his empty eyes and smile.

You glance at your brother, giving him a clear look that warns him of the path he is rolling down from. He should not forget you two are both hostages until you can prove you are worthy of this alliance. To make him sound like their beloved ancestor is a mistake, you just know so.

The king agrees with that as well, sitting up straighter and putting his crown back on his head when it slips. ‘’So you have come to threaten us?’’

You pull your nails faster, running out of your left hand. Fyrand chuckles but you can hear he has become nervous too. ‘’Your grace, no! Most certainly not. I came to a conclusion. I could destroy you all, but the chance you all yet survive because of your dragons is …too big for my liking. Why not forget about the past, why not let bygones be bygones. We should ally.’’ He says.

‘’Bygones be bygones.’’ Viserys repeats after your brother. ‘’And how will I know I can trust your word, if you already have began expanding your army?’’ Even more wary grows and dread fills your stomach. You can already see yourself hanging.

Fyrand gives you a small nod and you step forward, your hands neatly folded on one another as you look around the court for any kind face. But everyone looks at you like you are a traitor. It doesn't matter to anyone that you were a baby when the assassination attempts happened. They think you are just as guilty. ‘’I have brought my sister with me. My pure blooded Valyrian sister. She can stay here as a hostage, perhaps even marry one of your sons or grandsons. There is no need to have her wither away.’’

The king rubs at his forehead as if a great pain plagues him. ‘’I do not have time for this.’’ He speaks. You and Fyrand both freeze. He is not even considering your offer. ‘’Escort them to the dungeons.’’ He adds. Fyrand is surrounded within mere moments.

At first he couldn't believe it. ‘’What?’’ He can’t believe his plan didn’t work. And then the rage you know so well returns. He glares at you as if this is somehow your fault.

You understand you must act fast. So you do. ‘’Y-Your grace! Wait. One moment…’’ You search in the basket one of your servants brought with you. Fyrand glares, at first annoyed that you search your sewing basket. A few men chuckle as well.

‘’Is she going to knit her way out of this?’’

You put the wool and spools on the ground, searching deeper in the basket until you feel something cold, something hard and something ancient. You lift it from the basket, presenting it to all witnesses in court. In your hands is a familiar dragon egg. The king blinks with his eyes.

‘’Please, do not harm him. He has all I have left.’’ You add with a soft whisper.

‘’We found a chest full of dragon eggs in Pentos.’’ You hope you do not regret this. Fyrand makes a strangled little sound, briefly causing most heads to snap to him, back to the egg in your hands.

Prince Daemon draws his sword. ‘’Likely dead.’’ They might be. Most might be. Some eggs are centuries old, stolen during the time of Maelor.

You are facing certain death and so is your brother. You do not need this now. ‘’We did not have the resources to try to hatch them. We are no Targaryens.’’ You snap at him. ‘’We were lucky if we could find shelter for the night.’’

‘’How many eggs do you speak of?’’ The king asks. You did hope he would be interested. He is interested in dragon eggs. What fool wouldn’t be? You glance at your brother. He shakes his head rapidly.

Yet you go through with your plan. You must.

‘’At least seven and twenty.’’

Several gasps can be heard in the room.

Queen Alicent looks at the egg. ‘’’How did they even got there?’’ She wonders out loud.

A shout sends shivers down your spine. It belongs to your brother.

‘’I warn you, Revaera!’’ He thinks he is the only one who can make sacrifices. You will show him.

You can either lie and be executed or tell the truth and meet your gods with a true soul.

‘’They were stolen from the cradles of Targaryen babies.’’ You reveal, your head hung in shame with the crimes of your ancestors. Queen Alicent instantly turns her head to a young man on her side, wearing an eyepatch. Even from where you stand you can make out the scars that he likely tries to hide. Princess Rhaenyra, although she may hide it, also glances at the young man, her face full of regret and what could have been.

It is true. For centuries your family stole eggs from the Targaryens, replacing well working eggs with eggs that aren’t working eggs at all. Just stone and clay. You walk to the iron throne, presenting the egg to the king. ‘’This egg, I brought for you, my King. It was stolen a few years ago. It was said to belong to Prince Baelon.’’ You know he died shortly after birth but it is clear that the king has never forgotten his first born son.

His eyes light up in ways you never saw before, as you hand the egg over.

‘’This is impossible. The egg is still here. It is in my room.’’ The Queen lets out a soft but painful sigh as if she tried for years to close a door that is now pushed open wildly. You speak. ‘’No, your grace. They were switched. You have likely fake ones.’’

‘’After everything I did for you! You dare betray our family?!’’ Fyrand shouts and this time they need to restrain him from attacking you. You back away, terrified of your brother.

‘’They deserve to know! We were robbing babies.’’ You feel like you are betraying your family. But this might be your only chance at survival. You feel tired, alone, terrified and like this can all end in a moment. You have nothing left to do but break into tears.

‘’They are the reason we grew up without parents, without titles, without dragons!’’

You know he is right. And you wish you could do both but you clearly can not.

From the crowds, a brown haired young man steps forward, carrying the Velyaron colors. The colors of the sea. ‘’Grandsire, may I speak?’’ That must be Jacaerys Velyaron, the Princess’s ‘trueborn’ son with her lover, Harwin Strong.

The king smiles kindly at his grandson, proud that Jacaerys makes the effort.

‘’You already do so, Jacaerys.’’ He subtly looks at his other two sons, who stand by with rage written in their eyes, both green of envy and red of hatred.

Prince Jacaerys looks at your basket, your gown and the silver diadem in your hairs.

‘’We should ally with them.’’ He says. Hope fills your chest as you carefully start to smile.

Although the King loves his grandchildren very much, he will not let them affect his rule.

‘’Interesting. Explain.’’ He says instead, using this as a lesson. Again you notice his other two sons hide their displeasedness but it's so obvious to you.

The heir of the throne continues.

‘’House Targaryen needs more dragons. We can’t risk it that House Marthryralys will search for other allies. Dragons made us kings. Dragons made us strong. We cannot risk for the dragons falling into other hands.’’ You highly doubt that anyone aside a Targaryen could fly with dragons but with the blood thinning over several bloodlines it has become a risk to them.

‘’That is true.’’ The king admits despite the fact that he does not like you or your brother. He can see reason. That is rare for a king. Especially for a Targaryen king if what you heard from your brother is correct.

Prince Jacaerys becomes bashful, blushing a bit when trying to avoid staring too long at you. ‘’And, I think Lady Revaera has proven herself more than loyal to us, providing this information and the dragon egg. In fact, I was hoping you’d let us marry.’’ Marry? You feel new dread fill your chest as the King considers this offer. Even Fyrand has become awfully quiet. You need to turn your head to see if they didn’t knock him out. But no. He is still awake and awfully quiet.

‘’Not so fast.’’ A voice booms, as a shadow brushes past you, making his way to the Iron throne. The one eyed man stands in front of you. You feel threatened right away and gulp. The way he is dressed in all black is intimidating to you. ‘’I have done my fair bit of research into your family, my Lady.’’ You hear your heart beat only louder.

‘’You have?’’ You manage to ask, forcing your hands to stop trembling.

There is a silence in the throne room as everyone listens to what he has to say.

‘’Quite. You have an interesting story. I like interesting stories.’’ What is so interesting, you wouldn’t know. Your story is a tragedy. Perhaps he likes that. Perhaps his own story is a tragedy as well.

He turns to his father, and you briefly admire his long luscious looking silver pure locks that Jace clearly lacks. ‘’There is an old tradition, Grandsire. If an outsider wants to wed a member of the Marthryralys, he must duel a family member of the Lady to prove his worth.’’ That is true, in theory. But Your only family member is Fyrand. They won’t let their heir fight Fyrand.

And so, the king also speaks.

‘’I will not have Jacaerys fight that deranged man.’’

Aemond folds his hands on his back, his grin growing ever bigger. ‘’There is also another rule. If the Lady has multiple suitors, her suitors shall also fight for her and prove their worth. The victor shall become her Lord Husband.’’ You become uncomfortable, as you find it a bit of a silly rule, as well as concerning that he knows a awful lot about your family.

‘’Why is that needed? I want to marry her.’’ Jace bluntly says, laughing a bit to prove how silly he finds these traditions that your house honored for centuries.

Aemond looks at Jacaerys so he can see his face before he reveals what he was planning all along. ‘’Because I am also quite interested in her, Prince Jacaerys.’’ That sends shivers down your spine.

The King is confused. As are you.

‘’You are?’’

Instead of addressing his father and his king, he turns to you to give you a kind, almost the ghost of a smile as if he can hear you think and read your confusion that is written across your face. ‘’Hm. A lady as beautiful as you, I’d fight or die for you anyday.’’ Despite these words he almost seems confident he will win this match.

–

You visit Fyrand later in the dungeons.

‘’So.’’ He speaks as you have removed your hood. ‘’The Princes both seemed quite taken with you. Job well done.’’ He says, sitting up straighter, talking to you in high Valyrian so the guards won’t hear.

‘’They are eager for wives. It’s their age, I think.’’ Boys and men of that age become that way.

Fyrand chuckles as if you said something funny. He knows more about this than you ever will. ‘’Their age has nothing to do with it. They saw the way you played that fossil with that silly little egg of yours. They know their house is a dying one. The dragons become smaller and smaller still.’’ You heard the same, from your spies.

‘’You were clever, to think of it. To tell them the truth about the eggs.’’ You praise your brother, although you were scared in the moments where you acted out his plan. You had to turn off your emotions and believe that Fyrand would face certain death.

He bows his head in fake humbleness that does not become him in the slightest.

‘’Certainly. I have my moments. I nearly saw Prince Aemond drool when you presented that egg to that corpse.’’ You bet he did.

You become uneasy as you think of the one-eyed prince.

‘’He scares me.’’ You hope it is enough to call off the wedding part of the alliance.

But instead of that your brother’s smile only grows.

‘’Hm. He should. He is much to be scared of, little sister.’’

He leans in closer, his face close to the bars. ‘’There are rumors he tried to kill his own nephew. He is quick to anger, slow to forgive and has the biggest deadliest dragon in the entire world.’’ You hope he is lying. He has to be. He is describing a true monster.

‘’Aemond will win this duel.’’ He adds, as if it's clear.

‘’How are you certain?’’ Perhaps because Aemond is taller or older or something else you do not see?

He laughs as if you again ask a silly question.

‘’Because I saw both him and Jace fight. It won’t be to death, but just so you know: You will become Aemond’s bride.’’

A terrifying prospect. You did not agree to that.

‘’I thought we would pull the plan before that would happen?’’ You ask, your voice scared.

‘’No, little sister no. This is a long time plan. You just focus on keeping and making Aemond a very happy husband, yes?’’ You feel your air cut off at his horrible description. You see Aemond’s hands on your body and his lips near your neck, slightly brushing it when whispering dirty things in your ear.

Despite that, your body betrays you lie. ‘’Fyr, I’m scared. I do not wish to-’’ You wet your lips, speechless.

Your brother dryly gestures with the stomp that once had a hand attached to it.

‘’We all must make our sacrifices.’’ He says. You feel guilty. He lost his hand trying to get you to safety. He lost it defending the eggs. He smiles as you silently cry, accepting your fate. ‘’Now go. I bet they are itching to spill each other’s blood.’’

As always with a new story let me know what you thought of it. Comments reblogs likes are welcome but not required. But they do make me smile:)

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huramuna · 5 months

Text

wine red, tears gold - chapter 6.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a bit of a slower chapter. there should be about 2 more after this & we are at the end (':

word count: 2.7k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity, child loss, vomiting

cloudbursting - kate bush • playdate - melanie martinez

Alicent had thought she saw the last of death for a while. She had seen her grandson killed before her very eyes, seen her daughter’s skewered body upon the ground, a grisly tale of her son skewered through his eye, her other son burnt and suffocated.

She had seen enough death for a lifetime and then some.

When she had been awoken in the wee hours of the morn, it was still dark outside. Her handmaiden roused her from sleep with a panicked plea— the queen was in her labors.

Labors? Lyanna wasn’t pregnant, was she? Surely Alicent would’ve noticed, as they spent every morning together since the girl’s arrival over half a year ago.

She slipped on a housecoat and was escorted to the maester’s offices, where the robed man swept her aside immediately.

“What is going on? Her grace cannot be pregnant, surely?” Alicent questioned, eyes narrowed. She didn’t dare look over at the pale figure in the cot, knowing it to be Lyanna. She wasn’t ready yet to see such pain once more.

“The Queen is… was… roughly five moons along,” he explained softly, “Her chamber maids found her semi-conscious in a pool of her own blood, the room a mess— she… is fighting, surely. But the babe won’t be viable.”

Alicent blinked profusely, searching the healer’s face for any sign of a farce. “You say she was pregnant?”

“A matter of speaking, your grace. She is… laboring as we speak. The babe is stuck, however— at an odd angle.”

“… what does that mean for Lyanna?” she asked, leaning forward. Alicent knew what it meant, of course— death was in the room with them, waiting.

The maester gave the queen mother a hard look and shook his head. “Keep her in your prayers. The King… should be notified.”

—

Alicent sat by Lyanna’s bed, hand in bloody hand with her. The poor girl’s beautiful face was so pale, the blue veins in her half-drawn eyelids were visible.

The labors weren’t much of a ruckus as they usually would be— Lyanna was severely numbed by milk of the poppy, and the maesters pulled out the babe. Alicent caught sight of it— its skin was gray and scaly, with a ridged tail and little budding horns, as well as a pair of perfectly miniature wings. It didn’t breathe, nor cry.

“A son, your grace,” the maester announced solemnly.

The sight made Alicent want to vomit, but she swallowed it back, focusing on Lyanna. “You did so well, my love,” she cooed, dabbing her forehead with a damp cloth, “You did so well.”

“See… may I… see the… the babe?” Lyanna asked, her voice so quiet that only Alicent could hear.

Alicent’s heart clenched, brow furrowed. “Not yet, sweetling. They’re wiping him off now. Do you have a name in mind for him?”

“Aeron,” Lyanna breathed, “For… Aemond… and Daeron…”

A tear rolled down Alicent’s face as she leaned close to Lyanna, pressing their foreheads together. “Oh, my sweet girl,” she whispered, “My sweet, sweet girl. You’re the purest of us all, my love.” she cried fully now, eyes closed. She cared so deeply for the Queen, as if she were her own, or mayhaps more, and seeing the girl in pain agonized Alicent.

Alicent Hightower wept for Lyanna, Aemond, Daeron, and Aeron.

—

Aegon did not arrive until hours later, after he’d been found. He bursted into the room like an ignited dragon. “Where’s my wife? My son?” he demanded. Otto followed behind him.

Alicent stood up, her white nightgown stained in a bit of blood. She stared at her son, eyes narrowed with a fury she hadn’t felt in so long. “Out, Aegon— she’s asleep, finally, out, out!” she hissed, turning the King around and shoving him out of the chamber, closing the door behind them.

SMACK.

Alicent laid a firm slap across Aegon’s face. “What took you so long?! Your wife was bleeding out, laboring your babe into the world much too early! And I saw the marks on her— she isn’t one of your whores, Aegon! What in the Gods’ names are you doing to her?”

Aegon’s eyes immediately watered and he was the very image of a pathetic little puppy. He sniffed. “I didn’t— ‘twas part of our game, mother, I swear!” he simpered. “I never meant it… in a bad way.”

“Your game? Your game? Marriage isn’t a game, Aegon. Sex isn’t a game. You’re the only one she’s ever laid with and that is how you treat her?” Alicent was beyond fuming, not only for her good-daughter, but something within herself that has been long locked away. “Like some toy? She doesn’t know that it’s supposed to be gentle and loving— she must think that it’s normal to be treated in such a way.”

The king shifted uneasily back and forth, looking down at his feet.

“You never learn, do you? You’re just like your father.” she finally spat, eye to eye with her son. Her brown eyes were eclipsed with rage, lip curled before she descended back into the room to sit by Lyanna once more.

Aegon didn’t follow— but he didn’t leave the Keep, either. Later that eve, the outside of his chambers was littered with discarded wine bottles, broken glass strewn about.

—

It was a week before Lyanna finally came back to herself— she was mostly coherent, eyes flitting about the room. A chair, now empty, was set next to her cot.

There was another chair on the other side of the bed, which was filled. A tiny blonde head bobbed up and down behind a book.

Jaehaera.

She was reading, outloud, from a children’s book, legs kicking softly as she read. “It’s said that beyond the wall… there are dragons made of ice. They do not breathe fire, but blow frost from their gullets. Giants with feet as large as…” she paused, squinting, “wheelhouses, are said to ride the ice dragons to battle.”

“Do you believe that, princess?” Lyanna murmured, her voice hoarse from disuse. “Ice dragons and giants?”

Jaehaera blinked, her eyes going wide as she realized that her audience was awake. She ducked behind the book, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

Lyanna hadn’t spent much time with Jaehaera, to be truthful. She didn’t wish to force herself upon the melancholic girl and wished for her to take her time to open up. The young princess had attended breakfast with Lyanna and Alicent a number of times, but usually didn’t speak, unless whispering something to Alicent.

Jaehaera peeked over the book, her violet eyes looking at Lyanna cautiously. “… yes. I believe in ice dragons. Grandmother says…” she giggled softly, pulling the book down further to reveal a small smile, “that they aren’t real n’ the book is made up. But I know the truth.”

“And what is the truth? You must tell,” Lyanna hummed, shifting herself in the cot so she was facing Jaehaera, giving the young girl her full attention. “I must know.”

“They’re real n’ just sleeping beneath the snow, and they lay their eggs in the giant wall in the North. But… they take two… hundred years to hatch!”

“Two hundred years? That’s quite a long time to wait for a baby dragon.”

“Yup. I’m patient, though. Grandmother says it's my best… quar-lity.”

“Quality, sweetling.”

“Qual-ity.” Jaehaera repeated.

Lyanna gave a reassuring smile. “You look quite deep into the book— how long have you been reading for?”

“I came with grandmother… five days ago n’ started reading this to you… four days ago. I thought it might be nice to listen, even if you were sleeping…” she nods to herself, slowly coming out of her shell. “Sometimes, when I sleep, I hear stuff around me and it enters my dreams.”

“Thank you for reading to me, sweet girl. I thought I recalled hearing about ice dragons in my dreams,” Lyanna chuckled. “Will you keep reading to me? Even if I’m not asleep?”

Jaehaera looked down at the book, swinging her legs again. Her cheeks puffed slightly and she looked a bit bashful. “Uhmmm… maybe. Did… you still want to hear it?” she peered at the queen, head tilted. “… I don’t get to do much with friends anymore… they’ve all gone. Grandmother likes my reading but… sometimes she starts crying n’ I have to stop. Father is… too busy.”

The queen felt her heart clench. Out of all of the victims of the Dance— Jaehaera, in her mind, had suffered the most. She lost nearly everyone. “Of course, I’d love to hear you read more. I’m quite interested in what else is beyond the wall, and I simply won’t believe what anyone else has to say about it, it must be you, dear princess.”

The little princess gave a little giggle before she continued to read.

—

The queen and the princess were inseparable for the next moon– as they had found some sort of comfort in one another. Lyanna would stop to Jaehaera’s chambers and escort the young girl to Alicent where all three of them broke their fast together.

It was certainly an odd feeling for Lyanna, as she never had been really good with children, so to speak. But after Aeron, she felt something was lost from within her. She only remembered glimpses of her son before they took him away. The sight of him, so tiny and riddled with golden and red scales like a little lizard, with a tail and leathery wings. The sight of him had sickened a few of the attending maids, causing them to vomit and clutch their proverbial pearls.

She thought him a beautiful little boy and wished to know if he had his father’s violet eyes, or her brown.

In her dreams, he had a curly mop of white blonde hair and brown eyes with flecks of violet, like wisteria petals upon a pond, shaded by a tree. He would speak to her in hushed tones, holding and tugging on her hand, babbling all sorts of nonsense like children do. She never saw beyond the confines of the small garden they would be in, the outskirts of her vision creeping in lilting black and hazy purple.

But, nevertheless, it was an oasis, bright and sprightly like the first warmth of spring’s sun, warming their skin as Lyanna held Aeron to her hip, peppering him with kisses and love, while they watched ducks swim around in the petal speckled water. Dipping their toes into the chilled pool, a figure would approach. Another crop of blonde hair, somehow so familiar to Lyanna. The shape and gait of the shadow would liken itself to Aegon, but Lyanna could never see his face. He was dressed in black and green, with the crown of the Conqueror upon his brow, the indent of a smile perked upon his silhouette as he sat beside them.

Aeron would be between them, speaking a language that Lyanna didn’t understand, but it sounded similar to High Valyrian. Aegon’s shadow would converse back, but his voice sounded so far away and disjointed, like a distant memory. The specter of the king would take off his crown, and hang it upon Aeron’s curled mop, flashing a toothy white smile and singing praises. A smile Lyanna longed to see.

But it wasn’t real.

None of it was.

Aeron would never grow to be that sprightly little boy, and Aegon… the version that she’d concocted in her head of him didn’t exist.

It likely never would.

These dreams, ever repeating ever since she lost Aeron, would make her wake in a cold sweat, already crying, her nightgown clinging to her like a second skin, sticky and itching. She would get up and pace, trying her best not to wake Jaehaera, who had snuck into her rooms more than once when she had a nightmare, a frequent plague for the young princess.

Some might consider Lyanna’s dreams something of joy– but they seemed like a nightmare to her, an illusion that made her feel like she was going mad. It felt so real, that when she awoke, she could feel her fingers grazing through Aeron’s curls, the soft smell of him was alive and well in her room. Until a gust of wind would dissipate it.

And she would be alone with her thoughts, her longings and her dreams once again. She would crawl back into bed and wrap her arms around Jaehaera.

One eve, late into the night, Lyanna felt the indent of weight upon her bed. She didn’t open her eyes, as she was still flitting between consciousness and sleep– but her hand wandered over, expecting to feel Jaehaera. “... bad dreams, Haera?” she mumbled, her hand searching for the little princess’ own.

“... ‘tis not Jaehaera.” a voice murmured. Aegon.

Lyanna’s eyes snapped open, turning towards her husband, whom she hadn’t spoken to or really seen since Aeron’s passing. “Aegon?”

“... yes.” he whispered. He sounded small, like his vocal chords were stuck in a shell, echoing and far-flung from his usual cocksure smugness.

“Are you… alright?” she asked then. She should be angry, she really should– but she had just had her dream again, where he had been so alive, so lovely and right that she couldn’t be mad at him in the moment. Her mind was still swimming with the illusion she’d created of him.

“No,” he breathed, shifting closer to her slightly. “Something is wrong with me.”

“Are you ill? Shall… I get up and call a maester?”

“No–” he pressed, his hand reaching out to grasp Lyanna’s wrist. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but urgent, like a plea. “Stay. I… I need to explain myself.”

Her muscles tensed for a moment as she felt his hand upon her. It was warm and slightly calloused, but familiar nonetheless. “... okay.”

“I haven’t… picked up a bottle in near a moon, nor… touched a whore. I-I’ve been good,” Aegon whimpered. “I’m so sorry, Lyanna. For everything– Gods, I’m a fucking monster. I-I don’t know why I’ve done the things I did or said. It’s eating me from the inside like a sickness,” he took a shaky breath, sniffling all the while. He was crying. “I-I… I wanted to push you away. The moment I saw you with your… big brown eyes, so close to tears– I felt sorry for you, to be paired with me. You were good and pure and innocent– you didn’t deserve any of this– if I hadn’t been such a fucking coward, you… might still be carrying our son.”

Lyanna didn’t say anything, but her breath hitched slightly at his words. They were clear and concise– tear laden and full of sorrow but it was the most sober she’d ever seen him, the most lucid.

“I can’t feel that it's my fault. Because I was too weak to say no to them, to put my foot down and refuse. I basically killed them all,” he continued. “I’m just a Godsdamned coward and I should be put down like a dog for what I’ve done, for what I allowed to happen– my entire family save for three people who don’t see me as anything more than a disappointment are all dead, Lyanna– I could’ve… I should’ve… I should’ve kicked and fought against it, told them to fucking stick the crown where the sun doesn’t shine. What kind of brother usurps his sister’s throne? What… why did I let that happen?” his hand was shaking against her wrist now, his voice breaking into small blubbers. “I’m a fucking Kinslayer, Lyanna.”

She didn’t know what to say, truly. But the sheer ache she felt in the depth of her chest caused her to reach out her free hand and thread her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer to her as he cried, his entire body violently wracked with his sorrow.

It all suddenly made sense to her– the drinking, the whoring, the violence, the barbed words. He was punishing himself, his damnation pushing away everything that may even be a little good in his life. He was sentencing himself to a life of ruination until it consumed him completely, leaving nothing left behind but a husk; all because he thought he deserved it. Because he thought he killed everyone he’d ever loved.

It made sense.

Lyanna held him close to her chest, hushing and soothing his sobs. He had let go of her wrist to wrap his arms around her in turn. “I know,” she breathed, holding him like she had wished to in her dreams, tightly as so he wouldn’t disappear. “You only tried to… please… them– didn’t you?”

He nodded slowly.

“You just wanted to be loved.”

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

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meaeris · 1 year

Text

beyond all expectations

pairing: sebastian sallow x f.mc

genres: fluff, (a little) angst

summary: in which the protagonist is practicing to become an animagus and things, contrary to her expectations, go exactly as planned. more or less.

warnings: takes place one year later. spoiler for sebastian's quest. mention of character's death. hurt/trauma. Mc has a random name because i don't like using y/n or 2nd pov.

A.N. hi! i don't usually write fanfictions since english is not my first language, but i had this cute scenario in mind and had to write it down, so forgive some mistakes and inaccuracies. this is a repost from ao3. thank you for reading and interactions are super appreciated!

The problem was that Allie, wonder-child and proud Slytherin, had underestimated her abilities.

She didn't think for a moment that she would be able to transform so soon and, above all, she didn't think that the transformation would be so well executed that she wouldn’t be able to return to her human form.

"Don't panic" she thought, panicking.

Certainly Hogwarts couldn’t be defined as a cheap structure in terms of grandeur, yet now everything around her appeared immensely bigger and infinitely more majestic. She turned around and watched her own tail wag furiously behind her. Cats do that when they're nervous, right? She didn't know. She wasn't a cat expert whatsoever, for the only ones she had to deal with were the ones that roamed the castle. And now, herself.

A wave of delusion swept over her. It couldn't have been worse. Of all the animals she could turn into, a cat? Such a common animal? Her Slytherin pride was more than slightly hurt. Peering through some reflective surfaces, she managed to take a glimpse of her appearances: short gray fur, slender paws and deep aquamarine eyes. She wasn't just some common breed, at least. What was it called? A russian blue? Perhaps. Although there weren't traces of blue whatsoever.

The girl-prodigy (that's how some people called her) tried and retried several times to return to her normal form. She failed. A Slytherin who couldn't revert back a spell? What would her housemates say? What would her professors say? And after everything she had accomplished the year before! Defeated goblins, dragons, dark wizards… yet now the obstacle was herself.

She sneaked out of the girls' bathroom where she had been practicing until a few minutes ago and attempted to interact with the other students. Maybe someone would recognize her?

Misplaced hopes. Everyone mistook her for an ordinary cat, one of the many that occupied the school. Only a tiny less friendly, as she hissed and quickly sprang away whenever someone tried to pet her.

"Merlin's beard, why is this castle so big?!" she thought more and more irritated. She had no idea what to do. The worst thing? She could involuntarily transform back any time and end up naked in the corridors. In front of everyone. No. She would rather remain a cat forever.

"Of course, the wand! I'm an idiot, I could have brought it with me. Maybe showing it to someone will make them realize it's me."

She went back, not without getting lost a couple of times. Her sense of direction, now that she was seeing everything from a different perspective, had definitely worsened. The bathrooms were empty, and the room in which she had changed was still locked from the inside. With difficulty, she slipped again under the wooden doors and found her wand submerged by the clothes. She took the wand with her mouth, but she couldn’t manage to make it pass through the big pile of clothing. She wasn’t used to her feline body yet and everything felt like learning to walk for the first time. Her mouth felt stuck and the wand abnormally heavy. From bad to worse, no one would have noticed her clothes because from the outside it would have looked like an occupied bathroom.

She got an idea. She headed to Professor Onai's divination classroom, hoping to run into Natty. As the only Animagus she knew, the Gryffindor girl was aware of her attempts to become one. But so far every attempt had been unsuccessfull. Until that day.

She arrived at the entrance of the classroom, but realized she had forgotten an important detail: the ladder in front of her. She would have never been able to climb it, not in this form. She started meowing wildly, hoping someone would hear. It worked. Professor Onai, perhaps annoyed by that cry (which in her hindsight sounded more like a cat about to vomit), looked out from the upper entrance with a soft smile.

- You can't stay here, little one. Class is about to start. Shoo!

And that was that. The teacher disappeared and the girl (cat) stood there, looking up, as if expecting divine help. She cursed (meowing).

The lesson would last a long time, she didn't have time to wait. She had to do something.

If Natty wasn't available, there were only two options left.

She wasn't too proud of it, but in two years at Hogwarts she hadn't managed to make that many friends. Despite everything she'd done to save the school? Well... yes. But perhaps it was her fault, as she’d never been the reincarnation of friendship and affection, as much as she tried. Only Ominis Gaunt and Sebastian Sallow could define themselves as “companions”, at the moment. A direct consequence of sharing a deadly adventure that ends in tragedy. Natty and Poppy? Good company, surely, but they didn't have many occasions to meet, being from different houses and all.

It had now been a year since Sebastian's uncle died, and he still hadn't been able to forgive himself. He smiled and joked around much less than before. Everyone noticed that. Ominis, for his part, took a long time to accept things as they were, but when he realized that Sebastian needed friends, now more than ever, he decided that regret was better than anger. The three had become even more close, and they seldom left each other’s side. Although the topic was left untouched and a tense atmosphere was palpable everytime someone received a letter from their relatives.

She immediately thought of Ominis. He was the more conscientious of the two, the one with common sense, some would say, and he would have certainly uncovered her transformation if it wasn’t for a small... technical problem. He would simply hear her meowing madly and he would, rightfully so, ignore her, as he did with most of the cats. Although Sebastian admitted he caught the Gaunt boy secretly feeding them a couple of times.

And Sebastian? Well, let's just say she had been trying to avoid him lately. Not out of malice, but due to the effect that the boy's presence was having on her stomach. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but at the same time... it scared her. She was scared that this feeling had a name. After all, who would ever consider someone like her that way? Sebastian was smart, charismatic and charming, traits that certainly didn't went unnoticed by fellow Slytherin (or not) gals. At the same time, he exuded this unapproachable aura that seemed to scare his suitors away. Although some would say it was due to his close friendship with Ominis, despite the Gaunt boy being one of the kindest people she ever met... despite his, well, mood swings. He certainly didn't deserve such a treatment just because of his family reputation.

At the moment she had no choice. Burying useless emotions inside, she knew where Sebastian was, for they roamed together so often now that she had learned their schedules. She made her way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower and luckily, she spotted Sebastian walking out of the classroom. She waited until he was isolated from the other students and tried to get his attention. She waddled towards him and began meowing at his legs.

"Sebastian! It's me!"

- Hello there, small one. Are you looking for attention? - said the boy, kneeling at the height of the feline. His scottish accent sounded more pronounced with her feline ears.

"NO! I mean, yes, but not in that way!"

- How precocious. Are you hungry?

"No! I mean, I kinda am now that I think about it... but that's not important now!"

She tried everything: she rolled, jumped, scratched his shoes (which caused a gasp of disappointment) and even tried to stand on two legs. All of which only contributed to the "hungry cat" image that Sebastian already had. Other than making her own head spin.

- I'm sorry, I don't have any food for you - Sebastian shook his head in amusement and started to walk away, but Allie, desperate, followed him. A few minutes later Ominis showed up, wand in hand.

- What’s going on? – he asked, probably having heard the miserable cry from afar.

- I don’t know, this cat seems to be mad at me. It's been following me since I left the classroom.

"Then ask yourself some questions!"

Ominis raised an eyebrow.

- Maybe it's hungry. Or in heat.

"OMINIS!"

The two laughed and simply left her there.

“Come back, you buffoons! Don't leave me alone!”

- Shall we go to the Undercroft? Allie should join us soon.

Of course! Only the three of them knew about that place. If she showed that she knew, somehow, maybe they would finally put two and two together. Besides, if she was late, they would get suspicious. She was never late for anything. Of course, except that time she managed to be late for her sorting ceremony, but that was a special case out of her control.

She ran away, under Sebastian's perplexed gaze, and preceded them towards the entrance to the Undercroft, a gothic clock meticulously decorated by blue and gold hues, an elegant design that recalled the starry sky.

The only positive thing about the situation was that she got there before them, thanks to her four legs.

When Sebastian noticed her, he didn't hide a surprised grin. It didn't happen often, but the freckles on the boy's face seemed to stand out even more. She liked that expression a lot and, for a second, thought it was kinda cute.

- What the...

Ominis lowered his wand.

- What are you doing here? - Sebastian remarked more and more confused.

- Did it follow us?

- I'm positive it got here before us.

-Well, it's a cat… it wouldn't surprise me if it knew this place better than we do.

"Ominis, you and your logic, shut up for once!"

Sebastian abandoned himself to a slight smirk.

- Well, I don't think a cat might blurt out anything about this place. If it wants to come, let it come.

After her meow of approval, Sebastian walked over and bent down to pick her up. Normally she would have wriggled herself free if it was anyone else. But Sebastian wasn't anyone else. She relaxed and the floor moved far from of her view, making her feel slightly dizzy. She may have been a cat, but she’d been one for less than an hour.

Sebastian snuggled her into his arms and her heart went crazy, leaping into her throat.

- It's purring - Ominis noted, hinting a smile.

- And here I thought you hated me - Sebastian joked with his typical flirty tone.

“I want to dig a hole and bury myself in.”

When this was over, she was going to obliviate anyone that knew, she thought. They crossed the rusty gate and, once inside, Sebastian left her on the ground. The poor teen (cat), still panicking and probably thinking about a spell for grave-digging, didn't move for a couple of minutes.

- It could keep us company, as long as we are careful not to cast spells on him by mistake - Sebastian suggested, taking off his robe and placing it on the ground in a corner. He took out his wand and twirled it with his wrist, as if practicing movements.

- Are you sure it’s a him?

- I don’t know.

- I've heard that females have a smaller head compared to males.

Sebastian looked closely at her, who was now sitting next to them. If any other cat saw her right now, they would have probably stayed kilometers away from her.

- I frankly can't tell... if nothing else, I almost have the impression that it can understand what we're saying.

"I do in fact, and yet you're just spouting nonsense!"

She meowed in disapproval and two heads whipped towards her.

- See? - said the brunette.

- It is kinda bizarre - Ominis confirmed, perplexed.

- Maybe it belongs to someone and it got lost. We should take it to the professors later.

"You two are definitely not Ravenclaw."

The two spoke no more. Sebastian practiced with the training dummies while Ominis read a book in braille.

She had run out of ideas. She had tried everything, and the two seemed to ask the right questions, but not enough. So she just lay there, taking everything in for once, admiring her friends. Maybe it was the new point of view, but Sebastian definitely got taller, compared to last year. Taller and sturdier, although his complexion remained the perfect mix of soft and manly features. Ominis didn't change much, but bis cheekbones were more prominent and slightly higher, framing a tad more mature face. On the other hand, she remained exactly as she's always been, if not with increased dark circles and puffiness under her eyes.

An hour later Sebastian realized something was wrong.

- She's late - he observed, leaning against a big box and taking a breath. - How many times has it happened so far?

- In two years? Never, - Ominis confirmed, - Except that time she was held by Professor Garlick for being bitten on the ear by a chomping cabbage.

- That was actually rather funny. It was the first time I saw Allie spill some tears.

At the mention of her name (and trying really hard to ignore what he’d just said), she got up and leapt at Sebastian's legs, meowing so wildly that from afar it would have sounded like someone was torturing a stray cat.

This attracted Ominis' attention, who took his hands away from the book and placed it at his feet. He was getting suspicious.

Sebastian knelt down and inquisitively looked into her light eyes. She reciprocated, but that strange feeling in her stomach didn't take long to manifest.

- Here’s the thing… - he began, tilting his head towards Ominis with his eyes half closed. - Didn't Allie say she was training to become an Animagus?

Ominis knew immediately what he was implying. - For some months, yes.

- Did she ever succeed?

- As far as I know, never.

She meowed again and spun around.

Sebastian's eyes seemed to light up for a moment.

- Could it be... is that you, Allie?

"At last! Honour your name, Mr Sallow!"

She meowed and jumped, twice.

Sebastian took his wand, pointed it at the animal and spelt "Revelio!".

Nothing happened.

Sebastian sighed. - Maybe I'm reading too much into it...

At this, before Ominis could intervene, she lost her patience and grabbed his trousers with her pointed teeth, biting his skin in the process.

- Ouch! Okay, wait, let me try again! What was the spell... I read it once in a book of transfiguration…

He thought about it for a moment, until he snapped his fingers in ecstasy. He cast a spell she had never heard before and a blue light enveloped her body. For a moment she felt nothing. Then she sensed that her body began to change. Without thinking twice, she ran over to the robe Sebastian had set down earlier and mentally thanked him for doing so.

The transformation was undone and Allie found herself with Sebastian's robe wrapped around her body.

- Finally! Everything is at its right height. That was horrible! - she cried, stretching and shrinking in order to feel her bones again.

Perhaps from the effect of the spell, or perhaps from the sudden cold of the dungeons, she sneezed.

- Merlin! - Sebastian exclaimed, and turned away uneasy with eyes wide open.

- Allie? It's you? - Ominis asked, turning towards her, and for once she was thankful that he couldn't see.

Sebastian was looking at the wall. - What the bloody hell happened?

- I wish I knew! I was practicing the whole Animagus thing in the bathrooms, when suddenly it worked, and I...

- You were practicing? - Sebastian repeated.

- Yes.

- In the bathrooms? - he began to turn around to show his disappointment, but soon realized the embarrassing situation she was in and changed his mind.

-Yes. I mean, no... wait, that doesn't matter! Contrary to my predictions, it worked, too well in fact, and I couldn't turn back. Took you long enough to notice!

- How were we supposed to know?! You could have asked the professors!

- Ask, how, exactly? All I could do was meow. And besides, admit to a professor that I failed such a simple thing after all I've been through? No way. It would have been humiliating!

Sebastian didn't say anything more, as if he got the point.

- Well, for instance... you should put some clothes on.

She blushed furiously. - I would do it myself, but my wand was left in the bathroom along with everything else.

- It's fine - interrupted Ominis. - I'll go get them.

Probably understanding the situation better than Sebastian, Ominis offered himself to go retrieve everything. How, she didn't want to ask, but she trusted Ominis more than anyone.

- Thank you...

Ominis went through the secret passage. Two of them were left.

She sighed, both tired and awkward about the whole situation. - I'm sorry for all this mess. I really didn't think it would work… it was honestly just for fun.

Sebastian sighed and seemed to realize the irony of the situation. He giggled. - It's all right. But I think you should stop underestimating yourself so much.

She slumped her shoulders. Maybe it was the tense situation, or maybe it was the fact that she felt naked for the first time in front of someone (metaphorically and physically). She felt like confiding in Sebastian. - You'd think that after all that happened last year I'd be more confident, but it's not easy.

Sebastian crouched, leaning against a stone wall, a leg bent over his chest, the other stretched on the cold floor. He turned to look into her eyes, feeling the discussion was getting serious.

- You guys had four years to practice magic, but I had just one year to catch up with you lots. And yet everyone has expectations from me. I have to prove myself, and I have to do it quickly. Otherwise-

"I may as well turn back to my pitiful muggle life" she thought, but didn't say it out loud.

- I think you proved yourself enough - Sebastian admitted, not without a hint of irritation. - The goblins, the whole business with Anne and... my uncle. You've endured more than any Hogwarts student ever had. You should be proud of yourself.

- Only because I was not alone.

She was staring at him and he understood. He suddenly found his shoes more interesting than everything else in the room.

There had never been a real discussion after the events of the previous year. Perhaps out of fear, or shame, or both, but none of the three ever dared to press the subject. Therefore what she said next was like opening a forbidden box.

- I'm so sorry about your uncle.

He tightened his fists. - Yes, well... I've been living with regret all this time, and it's what I deserve. I haven’t heard from Anne since.

She looked at the ceiling and gripped the dark robe closer. - I won't tell you that with time she will change her mind and forgive you, because I don't know. But I think that it's never too late to redeem yourself.

- But how? - Sebastian asked, hiding a stutter.

- I don't know... Only time will tell.

Sebastian raised his head. He had those afflicted eyes that Allie couldn't stand to see. If she had some way to turn back time, she would do anything to stop Sebastian from casting that damned spell. If there was a dark magic spell that could help rewrite the past, she would cast it with no hesitation.

"What a hypocrite I am."

She suddenly had this urge to get up and hug him, but she obviously couldn't. For multiple reasons.

Sensing her feelings, he simply said, - Thank you, - and that was enough. The two smiled awkwardly at each other. After a while, he spoke again. - I have a question, if you don't mind. Have you been avoiding me lately?

She swallowed. - What makes you think that?

- I don't know... just an impression.

- It is. I would never avoid you.

She didn't mean anything by it, especially because it was a lie, but for some reason such a simple sentence felt like it had a double meaning. Sebastian seemed to grasp it too, and he scratched the back of his neck.

Not much time later, Ominis came back with her clothing and wand. She changed herself with magic as quickly as she could.

- How did you get these in the girl's bathroom? - Sebastian asked warily.

- Let's not get into details.

***

After thanking Ominis multiple times, she left the Undercroft for Potion class, while the other two gathered their things and slowly made their way out.

- What did the two of you do while I was gone?

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. - We talked?

- About what?

- Just small talk.

- Really.

Silence.

- You held her in your arms. And she purred.

Sebastian cheeks flushed and he was glad that Ominis couldn't see.

- Don't you start again, Ominis.

#sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #mea's post #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow x reader

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weirdthinkingdragon · 10 months

Text

Tails Of Embrace (Fic)

half dragon Dan Heng X reader X half dragon Zhongli

Sorry, had female reader in mind while letting the idea flow through me. If anyone wants, they can make a male version or gn version their way. Be sure to tag me. I’d love to see your take on it!

Not proofread

Warnings: a bit of talk of different dragon-like anatomies, oral (reader receive), non-canon biology of both characters, praise, some swearing, growling, double vaginal, pet name “my dear”, multiple orgasms, fingering, overstimulation, tail fucked, biting, marking, no protection

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The relationship somehow starting was odd enough. But yet it’s a thing you, Zhongli, and Dan Heng wouldn’t have any other way.

Over time, them having their tails around you started to quickly become even more common than how often Asta impulsively buys something online.

Their tails are constantly within your proximity if they can’t be on or around you for one reason or another. They’re rather clingy and Zhongli has a bit of a violent streak when several things have tried to cause you harm in the past before. Oddly enough it’s Dan Heng that gets him back to himself enough to get restraint over his ways again. They seem especially bad the past month or so. The others are getting used to it by then and just letting it happen (Himeko finds it rather amusing/entertaining). Welt doesn’t seem to show any problem with it. March finds it extremely cute and has a possibly concerning amount of pictures of you three falling asleep on the couch together stored in her camera.

Dan Heng and Zhongli also almost always seem to have a crazy amount of understanding and respect between each other and know how to take turns in a way. One time while you’re all sitting down, Zhongli’s tail will be wrapped around your torso while Dan Heng settles with wrapping his tail around one of your legs, and the next time they switch.

It took some time to start sleeping together, but it grew to be sort of the same way. You try to not think back to how awkward it was at the beginning. Thankfully Zhongli is good at smoothing things over with how many years os types of experience in talking he’s had on his world. The only difference is one gets to keep their tail between your thighs for the time.

This time it was Zhongli. Lying down on the bigger bed Asta more than willingly bought for you three has made things a lot more comfortable. Before it was just Dan Heng’s little space area on the floor, but he finally accepted to come to the room with you and Zhongli. Himeko couldn’t have been happier about that day.

It’s been about half a year of being together. Zhongli knew what was starting to happen to him a week ago, but has somehow forgotten to ever bring it up. He had hoped leaving Teyvat would be what would cancel out his dragon ways, but being around you and Dan Heng made him realize especially now that his idea was fruitless.

The deep burning desire was just way too hard to shove away no matter how hard he tried and wanted to not do so, especially if you and Dan Heng aren’t ready yet.

But he just… he can’t help it or hold it any longer. Your now heightened smells to him mixed all together are driving him absolutely mad.

He still tries to hold himself together while you and Dan Heng enjoy the physical contact with each other and him yet again.

You and him laying on your right sides while Zhongli is on his left, facing you. Dan Heng laying behind you with his incredibly long tail wrapped a few times around your left leg by your ankle. He teasingly brushes the tip of his tail to tickle your leg from time to time.

Zhongli doesn’t even notice he starts doing it, but his tail between your legs starts to rub at your pussy, earning a surprised squeak from you louder than the one that comes out with Dan Heng suddenly brushing his tail tip against your leg.

“What was that sound for? I didn’t tickle your leg this time.” His voice asks from behind. It is still so rather monotone that if you didn’t know him better you’d probably think he wasn’t curious, yet you could tell he was.

“Zhongli! What was that for?”

It was only then that he noticed was his tail was doing.

“Ah, well… I was hoping that leaving Teyvat would help stop what is happening now, but I suppose one’s nature is going to follow them wherever they go.” He takes his tail out from between your legs, though he really doesn’t want to. The warmth feels so incredibly good. Being so close just makes him want to indulge in even closer proximity.

“It’s with me being a dragon from my world, essentially. To put it simply, I’m going into a heat.”

Your mind stalls when taking in that information. It’s something you never really thought about until now.

“Your kind has those in your world?” Dan Heng asks.

“Yours don’t?” The slight change in his tone made it known he was quite curious about the other world’s different customs.

“Not really. A rare few seem to, but most don’t. At least not anymore. It’s something that changed over a very long period of time.”

“Oh?” He involuntarily rubs his tail between your legs again. “It seems we’ve much to know of each other as of yet then.”

His tail rubbing you felt good. Possibly too good. You hold in a groan that tries to slip out.

Upon looking at Zhongli now, he has a very strong blush on his face. He’s so flushed he almost looks drunk. In a way, he is. He’s solely drunk on you even though almost nothing has happened yet.

You’ve thought about the more intimate things that might come later in the relationship with the two of them, but you weren’t expecting quite this soon. Your mind starts to wander and run wild with the thoughts of what might happen soon. You’re more than ready and want to further the relationship of you three, but are unsure of Dan Heng’s thoughts on it.

Little do you know that now Dan Heng knows what Zhongli is going through, it’s also starting to affect him with the idea of mating you. To make you fully and truly only theirs to mark and give insurmountable pleasure.

Also, with how close you and Dan Heng are, he can also slightly feel Zhongli’s tail rubbing on his dick.

Dan Heng wraps his arms around your waist to pull you closer, trapping the tip of Zhongli’s tail between your ass and his slightly starting to bulge dick.

It was like a silent agreement between the three of you that you all want to go on.

Dan Heng decides to check to make sure the door to the room is locked. The last thing needed is someone trying to come in for one reason or another. He gets up and goes to check the door while you and Zhongli sit up. You grab Zhongli’s tail and start slowly yet gently rubbing your hands up and down the sides of it, making it twitch in your hold and eliciting a deep groan to come out of his throat. That groan alone set you and Dan Heng off more.

He comes back and sits behind you again, pulling you to sit up with him, which makes Zhongli sit up as well.

Zhongli kneels and reaches for your shorts. Before you can even blink, he temporarily loses control and rips your shorts and underwear off in one go with his hands that are growing sharper into much more like claws.

It makes you let out a sound of surprise.

Zhongli did truly feel a bit bad if he scared you. “A-ah, I do apologize. I seem to have gotten a bit… carried away. It’s so hard to control myself around you, especially right now.” He glances down at your pussy, knowing what he strongly wants to do before anything else. Taste you. Really taste you. Smell you. Make it feel like there’s no escape from your scent. Not like he’d ever want to be away from it in the first place.

His pupils turn more into slits, and his face changes to show an extreme amount of lust and sheer need. His eyes almost look like they change to a faintly glowing liquid gold.

The lustful expression is radiating so strongly that you can feel his intentions even without thinking about it.

He lowers himself to his stomach to be at eye level with the most sacred part of you. Who is he kidding? Every single minute detail about you is sacred to him and Dan Heng as well. He grabs your thighs and places your legs over his shoulders, surrounding himself with you. The burning desire searing through him already becoming insanely uncomfortable.

Just looking at your unmarked thighs has his mind going absolutely wild thinking of leaving his bite marks all over. He caves and does start biting your thighs. The teeth marks left on your thighs right by your pussy makes him let out a pleased hiss and a small grin on his face.

Dan Heng cages the rest of you with his legs. He pulls your sleep shirt up to take it off. You lift your arms with no objections.

However, once the shirt is off, you try to cover yourself feeling a bit embarrassed.

Neither of them was having that. Dan Hang makes your arms go down and wraps his tail around your stomach, keeping your hands trapped as well. Knowing you can’t move your arms turns you on more than you think it should.

Zhongli takes a deep breath in. “Fuck- It’s hard to hold back. I can’t. I need to taste you, my dear.” And with that, his more slender tongue slips through your folds without much resistance.

His deep growl of approval of your taste sends a shiver down your spine. He pushes rather firmly on your clit before going down and pushing to move around your G-spot before coming back out and rubbing your clit rather firmly again. Your body tries to jerk, but it has nowhere to move with a tail being snugly wrapped around you, your legs being over shoulders, and your thighs being carefully held by clawed hands.

The only thing you can do is grab his horns that were within reach of your small remaining window of possible movement. You clench your hands around his horns tightly.

Zhongli lets out a chuckle. "If we knew you had such an obsession with our horns, we would have more than gladly allowed you to touch them, you know?” He teases.

Dan Heng gently grabs your head to turn towards him a bit more and kisses you deeply, having his hands wander from the top of your shoulders towards your chest, cupping them then running his thumbs over your nipples, turning it into rubbing them. He asks for entrance of your mouth by running his tongue over your lips. You gladly allow him access.

He slips his tongue in and swallows every moan you let out, enjoying your muffled sound and vibrations of your own mouth on his.

You can feel Dan Heng’s dick quite quickly bulging more and pressing more on your ass with each minute that ticks by, but that gets harder to focus on as the pleasure becomes overbearing and the only possible thing you can think about. That coil is becoming close to coming undone and your body heating up exponentially.

Dan Heng knows you’re close as your body tries to jerk more harshly than before. He grabs your nipples between his fingers and pinches them rather harshly, bringing that wave of pleasure to burst and come crashing down.

You cum hard all over Zhongli’s face. It was the most intense orgasm by far that you’ve ever had in your life.

Zhongli lets out another deep growl of approval feeling your juices get all over his face. Your scent being all around him now makes him want to fuck you so badly. His pants are super tight and very uncomfortable. Probably also soaked with a lot of precum. He has to hold himself back from taking you right there though. You’re not quite ready yet. Plus, he also wants something else in you to help stretch your pussy for him since he can’t exactly finger you right now. His tail tip flicks in anticipation.

He locks eyes with Dan Heng. “Would you mind helping me prepare her?”

Dan Heng doesn’t have to be asked twice. He gives a final grope to your left breast and slowly trails his hand down to your stomach, to slowly down in front of your pussy. Giving Zhongli a little anticipating show on the way.

He watches with great interest as Dan Heng’s two fingers slowly go into you, splitting open and moving around to let out loud wet squelches that are like music to his ears.

Dan Heng slowly pushes them inside you up to his knuckles, opening his fingers to show deeper inside you as well as stretch you a bit, then closes his fingers and twists them to your g-spot.

He hungrily watches Dan Heng repeat his movements and gets to watch your facial expressions this time every time his hand moves in a way you like.

Dan Heng eventually adds a third finger, making you arch your back into his hand.

He doesn’t quite let you reach your peak into another orgasm, making you miss feeling something in you immediately when he pulls out his fingers. It was at that moment you knew what you wanted.

They wait for a moment to let your body calm down a bit from you looking like there’s something you want to say.

You manage to collect your thoughts. “I… I want both of you at once.”

Zhongli and Dan Heng share a concerned look with each other before looking back at you. “Are you sure?” Zhongli asks.

You nod. You do desperately want both no matter what. They’re your everything. And neither deserves to be left out.

There’s a slick mess all over your lower body, and it just keeps coming out. Zhongli moves his tail to your opening and swipes up some of your juices before pushing a bit inside. The feel of his tail is a bit strange, but not unpleasant. The stretch of the rest of it makes you focus more on that though.

Zhongli cups your face and leans in to kiss you deeply. And just like Dan Heng, you gladly give him access. He’s almost panting with how hard he’s restraining himself, but he knows waiting to the end will be the highest reward.

Dan Heng goes back to playing with your nipples and leans down to nibble on your neck. His hot, uneven breath shows how needy he’s getting as well. He also can’t hold it any longer and brings the tip of his tail down to be with Zhongli’s. He wraps his with Zhongli’s making them both shiver and pushing his inside to join Zhongli’s.

Two tails being inside you give a bit of an uncomfortable stretch. You all three moan. Them from how tightly your pussy is clenching their tails and how warm you are, and you with how full their tails alone are making you feel.

They slowly move around to fully stretch you as much as possible. Your pussy tightening around them making it rather difficult.

Dan Heng goes right by your ear. “It’s alright. Just- ngh. Just let go.”

“You’re doing a fantastic job so far with us. You feel phenomenal, my -ngh, my dear.”

They do a few light thrusts from time to time and still try to move around a bit inside you. However, their last remaining patience is waning very quickly. They strongly just want to be in you, to embrace you at the same time.

Dan Heng reaches down and rubs your clit harshly until another orgasm is ripped out of you, greatly tightening around their tails.

They let you catch your breath again for a moment and think you’re finally ready and slowly pull their soaked tail tips out.

Dan Heng finally lets you out of the rest of his tail and takes off his clothes. So does Zhongli. Being able to see their fully naked bodies for the first time sends you into an overdrive of need you didn’t even know you had.

They are no better as they fully get to stare at you as well. It doesn’t take long though as Zhongli pulls you to stand up and hoists you to wrap your legs around his waist. You feel his large dick right against your pussy.

Zhongli is in absolute bliss being able to feel only your full skin and body heat against his. “You ready for us, dear?” He asks still a bit out of breath.

You nod and that’s all he needed before he couldn’t wait any longer and slowly started to press his dick against your pussy until it easily went in. He kept pushing in until his dick was fully sheathed and let out another very satisfied sound of what somehow sounded like a mix of a hiss and a moan.

One dick alone made you feel rather filled. But that’s not what you or they want. You want to be fully filled. And they want what you want.

Dan Heng comes behind you and helps you stay on Zhongli by giving a bit of back support. His dick also near your entrance. He grabs your hips and slowly presses his in for you to slightly adjust.

They both suck in a breath through their clenched teeth at how tight you are with the both of them and how they feel being pressed against each other inside.

It’s a bit more unbearable than you thought it would be, and they both can sense your discomfort. Even after they stretched you out with their tails, that was nothing in comparison with their dicks. It honestly hurt quite a bit never having double so large in your pussy.

Zhongli brings up one of his hands to your face and brings his forehead to lightly press against yours. You can feel his horns press against your head. He stays like that to try to comfort you.

“It’s okay, we won’t move until you tell us. Just try to ease your body. We’ll take care of the rest.” He kisses the left side of your neck.

It does take a little bit, but the pain and the discomfort soon becomes nothing but pleasure and a delightful fullness.

You grab onto Zhongli’s horns again.

Zhongli would gladly admit it if asked, but he absolutely loves you grabbing on his horns. Only you though. No one else ever can, except Dan Heng. But he doesn't think Dan Heng would unless asked. “Can we take that as the go-ahead?”

You let out a nod. “Y-yeah.”

They quickly set a rather fast pace. Zhongli more so for finally being able to give in to his heat. Almost at a brutal pace, but neither you nor Dan Heng mind it.

Dan Heng feels so good that instinctively his much longer tail wraps around you and Zhongli, sandwiching the three of you closer into the same movements.

Your pussy is never left empty as one pulls out to thrust back in, the other is already in to pull out and thrust again.

Their cocks rubbing against each other making it feel even better in your already tight pussy to you and to them.

Dan Heng quickens his pace not too long after to partially match Zhongli’s as well. His tail tightens around you and Zhongli a bit more, making your chest rub against Zhongli’s with every thrust, making him go even deeper into his heat craze.

Zhongli can feel himself getting close fast. Dan Heng and your’s moans and sounds, the wet squelching of your pussy with both of them, and both of your skin against his is driving him mad to breaking point.

He leans down and sinks his teeth into the right side of your neck and lets out a muffled roar as he cums. His cum almost seems endless as it just keeps flooding into you. Much of it falling to the floor. His hips jolt with every rub of Dan Heng’s dick rubbing against his, but he refuses to pull out though his dick is now sensitive.

The extra warmth and lubricant of Zhongli’s cum brings Dan Heng to his end sooner than later. He’s getting really close so he brings his hand down to your clit yet again and rubs rough circles.

Your hips buck greatly too, clit still sensitive from the previous orgasm and clit rubbing.

That coil unravels and yet another earth-shattering orgasm is ripped out of you. This one is even more powerful than the others.

You cumming and clenching around the two of them makes Dan Heng cum as well with a loud moan that he managed to stop by biting the other side of your neck.

The three of you stay in place to catch your breaths.

Dan Heng can’t remember ever feeling this way. He’s glad that this won’t be a one-time thing.

Just looking at you and Dan Heng this way was making his dick hard again. He hopes you and Dan Heng can handle a few more rounds. It will take more than that one time for his heat to go away.

“After you both rest a bit… ready for another round?”

You and Dan Heng can feel him hardening again.

It’s going to be a long night apparently.

Well, heats sure are fun.

-----------------------------------

An- A second fic of Zhongli giving oral to reader. I am not sorry >:-) I also tried my best. Idk if I’m very good at NSFW yet lol. Sorry if the view thing was a bit confusing, still trying to figure out writing things not in first person pov.

tags: @satosugumyfuckingbeloveds

@iruiji

@esthelily

#genshin #x reader #genshin impact #zhongli genshin x reader #dragon zhongli x reader #dragon zhongli #x you #dragon dan heng x reader #dragon dan heng #dan heng #star rail x reader #honkai star rail #inbibitor lunae #dan heng bibitor lunae

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 6 months

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One small pet peeve I have about Chapter 7 is that it's making Maleficent look like "a victim." This is a personal thing but I always considered the Evil Queen to be Disney's most evil villain, but the title has Maleficent being considered "evil incarnate." And I understand, she has powers and transforms into a dragon. What a cool thing. But on several occasions I feel that content creators who partly work for Disney do not respect that she is an evil being and end up softening her character, either giving her a tragic background or making her a mother. Going back to TWST, the part that bothers me the most is right at the beginning of the chapter, when Yuu dreams about Maleficent and the only option to choose implies that they feel bad for Maleficent for not being invited. And it's like WHAT? Didn't you see that she cursed a baby? Or better yet, why didn't you feel bad for the other villains? And seeing the theories of the most recent update, with the inclusion of the senate and seeing that almost the entire fandom hates them, it makes Maleficent's descendants seem more like victims (which they partly are). Sorry, this is something personal that I wanted to share with someone. But in conclusion, no other medium outside of the original film can well portray Maleficent as the embodiment of evil that she is supposed to be. And yes, I know the Draconia family is not Maleficent but they are still related.

Disclaimer: I’m coming at this from the POV of someone who has no attachment to Maleficent as a character and is frankly confused as to why she’s the Big Bad that Disney chooses to promote as their villainous icon 🤡 so take my opinion with a grain of salt!🧂

To quickly correct something before the discussion: Malleus being a relative or a descendant of Maleficent is NOT canon. It is a popular headcanon, especially during the early days of the TWST fandom when we didn’t have a lot of lore about the Draconia family. From the way Malleus speaks about the Thorn Witch, she is considered a separate ancient entity and not someone he personally knows or has blood ties with.

Knowing that, it somewhat detracts from the points made in this ask 😅 since it seems like the Anon was trying to draw a parallel between Maleficent and Malleus… Conflating Maleficent with Malleus may be the result of mixing up the dreams with the differing mediums and presentations of Maleficent and Malleus in the context of their own works. I feel they can be treated like two entirely separate cases, and with different intentions behind them.

Maleficent has been written as a tragic antihero in the live action movie(s) of the same name. That is one interpretation of her, just as the Descendants Maleficent is much goofier in attitude. They are Disney’s properties and so they are free to twist Maleficent however they wish to suit the circumstances or to chase a modern trend of redemption, even if it’s different than the “mistress of evil” she was introduced as. In my opinion, there is nothing inherently wrong with this (although that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to enjoy or to agree with every iteration of Maleficent or the new direction she’s being led in). This doesn’t automatically make her a “victim” (for lack of a better term) either, she feels more… “girlboss” to me, if that makes sense?? Tragic things do happen to her, but they don’t define Maleficent as an individual (if I recall correctly, she acts on her own and rises up + regains power in spite of humans hating her). I think it’s just a different way to spin a story. However, I can see why maybe this doesn’t bode well to some people who like her for being evil and not for being redeemable.

Malleus is the “final boss” of a gacha game. The intention behind his design is to endear the players to the character so they’re willing to roll for him. That’s why Malleus in particular has a “special” role compared to the other boys, and why they try to establish a friendship with Yuu early on in the main story. He is treated differently in the narrative because of that. We may not necessarily like it or find the method effective, but that’s the design TWST went with. (I’m personally not a fan of this either, it grants Malleus specifically a lot of grace and favoritism that I’m not on board with 😅)

I also want to point out that when the other villains were introduced in Yuu’s dreams, it’s not really in situations that would immediately warrant sympathy. The Queen of Hearts is unreasonably mad, the King of Beasts is plotting against his brother, etc. It’s not that Yuu doesn’t “feel bad” for the others, it’s that the others didn’t give Yuu anything to “feel bad” about right away. For the dream with Maleficent, it’s different: Yuu first learns that she is “unwanted” and THEN she casts her magic. Yuu then fixates on the reason behind Maleficent’s curse (because at this point in the story, we’ve seen 6 cases of how one’s motivations and past fuel one’s actions in the present). The other villains don’t get similar scenes or lines to show off the potential reasoning behind their behaviors (no showing of how the Queen of Heart’s rule benefits her people, no jeering at Scar, etc.) so of course Yuu won’t be as gracious about them.

We should also consider that each of these dreams is prophetic and ties back to the current OB boy’s troubles. In Malleus’s case, loneliness is a huge issue and he’s been Yuu’s “friend” since book 2. These will naturally play into Yuu feeling more sympathy towards Maleficent, who resembles Malleus and is left out like he is. The other OB boys didn’t have this “special” connection, and their issues don’t center so strongly on wanting companionship. If you refer back to Yuu’s dreams of each villain, Yuu’s reactions to each reflect the ongoing dilemma of each boy and their dorm mates, such as wondering why the card soldiers don’t intervene and not understanding why Scar used the methods he did.

That being said, I’m not sure if I agree with the use of “victim” to describe the Draconias. The term’s definition varies by person (and I’m not sure what the asker’s own definition is, so there may be some disagreement here), but personally I see “victim” as a binary. It puts one person in a weak and passive position—with them being the one acted on—and the other person in a position of power—the one doing the acting. It creates an easy “us vs them” narrative. I don’t believe this is the case for any of the TWST characters; to call them “victims” implies a lack of agency to act and a clear good vs evil worldview.

Back to the Draconias. Yes, bad things have happened to them and some of those bad things were the result of the senate’s decisions. That doesn’t make the Draconias (or even Maleficent, in my opinion) “victims”, and certainly not “victims” to the senate alone. There are so many other factors to consider in Malleus being isolated and turning out the way he did. These include, but are not limited to: Maleficia being too busy to spend time with him, his parents being absent, Malleus still managing to meet and interact with Lilia anyway, Malleus himself being so powerful/high status he scares his servants and peers, royals having duties to tend to and thus limited freedoms, previously existing tensions with humans, etc.

TWST does do a lot to make you feel bad for and to pity Malleus. From the moment we first saw him, the “loneliness” of Malleus was a major part of his character. Many factors outside of his control compounded as an unfortunate situation that… wasn’t very conducive for him to grow up feeling normal and loved. It’s not that he was just now made a “victim”, it’s that we’re now getting all the context for why his character is the way it is—and it’s a whole slew of traumas and personal experiences. I would argue the same happens for all the OB boys; this isn’t something exclusive to twisted Maleficent, Malleus. TWST is trying to present these issues with more nuance than the classically evil G7 they were inspired by; the OB boys in general they aren’t defined by their “victimhood, but rather how they respond to and cope with those experiences.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #Maleficent #Yuu #Lilia Vanrouge #Scar #Queen of Hearts #Maleficia Draconia

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hoeplessl0nging · 5 months

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A Mother's Lament

Helaena takes revenge into her own hands. [2.3k words]

inspired by this post from @sleepwalker-02-artist , i don't normally write these little prompts but something took over and i couldn't not write a little oneshot. || cross-posted on ao3

The air was thin, up so high. High enough her hair was kissed by cotton clouds. The wind was near deafening and cold, yet it quieted the rage in her blood, blew the tears from cheeks and dried her eyes. The steel on her shoulders, silver, shining steel, heavy like death, heavy like the grief nestled under her chest and in her belly, it pushed against her lungs, it hurt when she took a breath. Yet what was the pain other than a motivation?

High over the rivers, green grass and blue waters, carved like an angry god had taken a knife to the lands. How much blood has tainted the water of the trident? Helaena had found herself wondering. Much, certainly, though there would still be more to come.

The woman sniffed and violet eyes grazed the skies again. He had to be here, somewhere. Far below her, near several miles below, a brown dragon flew, surveying the lands, as if searching for something, or perhaps someone. Helaena sighed, it was not the dragon nor rider she was searching for. Absentmindedly, she pulled the reins and whispered to Dreamfyre, an order to fly high and steer clear of the other enemy rider. It was not the conflict she was after.

The pressure on her lungs returned with another breath, the chainmail clinked as she shifted her weight in the saddle. She squinted and felt that familiar burning rage and blue grief, flowing like waves, a thundering storm inside of her. Lightning struck each of her nerves and violet eyes searched through the sky and clouds for a bloom of crimson.

'Twas no revenge, no eye for an eye, nor son for son. It was blood. It was death for the sake of it, that sweet boy she had carried, had birthed, had cherished did not deserve that. That man, that monster, who had held the blade to her throat. The other that had held her precious daughter. The one responsible for it would die. Be it today, or tomorrow. He'd not survive the week. He'd not live long enough to harm another.

"Choose. Choose!" He had screamed, the other jeered almost gleefully. The edge of his knife had kissed her throat.

Too close, too loud, too much. Not her boys, not her girl, not her. "Choose!" The rat-catcher and the sellsword had cried, Helaena remembered crying. Tears salting the stone of the castle. Had it always thirsted for blood as so? Death, death, death, the crow faced god cloaked in shadow cawed, hauntingly.

"Stop, stop," she had shouted. "Stop!" Yet they did not, not until the sellsword had deemed her overcome by grief, mad enough, weak enough to drop the blade from her neck.

Her limbs had felt weightless, boneless, a flop of fabric and skin on the stone floor. He had moved to threaten the squalling babe in the cradle. "Take me, kill me. Not him, not my son, don't you touch him! Not any of them, please, not my Maelor!"

The sellsword had laughed, yet it sounded more like a howl. A feral dog. A blood thirsty hound. "You have named one, then."

Violet eyes had stared on in horror. Her throat had ached - had she been screaming? Why had no one come? Where were the guards? Where was her mother? Or her brothers or her husband?

More tears had bubbled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her lips wobbled and throat bobbed. Helaena remembered the back of her hand, reached out desperately, as if she could summon the foul blade from the sellsword's hand with some unknowable power. Yet it did not happen.

If she had strained her ears, there was a high howl that sounded like Shrykos. A croaky caterwaul of Morghul. The deep, haunting, angry bellow of Dreamfyre. She could still hear their calls now, along with the crying children.

Death was never pretty, in the few deaths she had been forced to watch, she had always looked away. A delicate lady with delicate sensibilities, a gentle and good woman, she had been told. Quiet and prone to melancholy, but good, a clement Queen, her mother had said as she'd laid her crown upon her head and kissed her cheeks.

She had made Aegon and the war council agree send their half sister terms of peace, she had made them all agree to leave Rhaenyra's title and let the woman and her kin keep Dragonstone, yet what had she received in turn? Death.

The gods had warned her, she had warned them all, ever since she could speak, from the moment she could process more than grief. Yet no one listened, they never did. Close an eye, a dance, a war, the death of the dragons.

Each divine message wrapped in riddles and the visions covered in a haze like layers of chiffon, faces and features warped into unrecognisable humanoid blobs. The death of her son, slaughtered like an animal, by some foul, cruel butcher and rat-catcher.

Not her Maelor, though. Not the babe, not the one that foul creature had tricked into her not her sweet daughter either, brave little Jaehaera, stony-faced and catatonic at the sight before her, frozen as she had been since the rat-catcher had threatened what the sellsword -a man so callously named as Blood- would do to the little girl if she did not hurry and make her choice. An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Debts never paid and twisted.

Yet the look in the little girl's eyes was as if the whole earth had shattered. Helaena couldn't find it within her to bring up his face inside of her memory, not when he was smiling an laughing, not when he had died scared and screaming. Face so cruelly contorted by fear. His little body, those little lilac eyes, lifeless and everything, so so red. Four namedays old. Bloody and haunted. Her first, her boy, named for the Old King, only he would now never grow old, spiders would find their homes where her eldest son had once been.

Perhaps once upon a time, they had taken her warnings. Perhaps it would have been peace. Perhaps if the rot had been cut off before it touched the entire tree. Before the blood seeped into the water and found it's way into the wine. Before the flies feasted upon them all, before crows and buzzards picked their bones dry. She had warned them. Yet the seeds of war had long been sewn, crime unpunished and far from forgotten.

Hadn't her mother and half-sister found peace before Viserys had died? Put down their poisons before it tainted the roots anymore. The woman bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to draw blood. The taste of iron filled her mouth as the liquid kissed her tongue.

It was foolish to believe that it was enough to stop the ever-growing rot. To expect the scorpion wouldn't sting. It was all the thing knew how to do, all her half-sister's attack dog knew how to do. No matter how gently one handled a creature, it would still bite. But the scorpion had stung the wrong frog, for whilst the grief had confined her, melancholy and guilt twisting her mind into a prison, it had put her upon the window ledge more than once swaying and staring down at the long drop, the spikes at the bottom of the pit.

The anger had found her a way to break free. Anger, righteous and shrewd and vicious, burning like wildfire in her belly. A dragon. A monster taking over where she had once been human, ready to avenge her son, her people, her Hightower uncles and cousins, the families of her ladies and the soldiers that had died for their cause, the smallfolk that starved along with them and suffered at their hands. The lost Shrykos. For her living children, for Jaehaera and Maelor, for her mother and brothers.

Daemon Targaryen would befall the fate of all mad, rabid dogs. The frog would drown the scorpion before it could sting again. She'd cut as many of the rotted limbs from the tree as she could, herself, or she'd die trying.

The beat of Dreamfyre's wings was as soothing as it could be. Like the drums of war. Sure and steady, like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west. Like Sunfyre glimmering gold and platinum and rose, like the light of the Hightower, like the will of the gods. The wingbeats were thumps of a thunderous heart. A lilting lullaby from the only other creature who truly understood her pain, her fury - who knew her better than anyone else did and likely ever would. A gentle giant and an apt listener-. Dreamfyre was certain, she'd ne'er fail her, heart and soul and strength and innocence, grief and mourning. Dreamfyre knew it all. She is as much me as I am myself. She thought.

Her mouth grew dry as the dot in the distance drew ever closer. Dreamfyre rose higher and higher, the air growing thinner and colder. The red dragon and rider had not spotted them yet, and if the gods had woven the tapestry of fate in her favour, he would not until it was too late. Jaehaerys was dead. She was not.

He was dead. She was not, yet a part of her had died with him, a hole in her heart and an aching web of guilt that made it almost impossible to look at Maelor and Jaehaera, unable to meet her mother's gaze nor stomach being in the same room as her brothers for longer than a moment. Would he have grown to look like them? Aegon's messy waves, Aemond's eyes? Daeron's mannerisms? Would he still have her smile? Maybe the gods could reveal it, in another dream.

Another dream, an omen, a wish, a warning - If she lived long enough to dream again. Fire for fire, blood for blood. Like the fear that haunted her mind. Like the words and riddles whispered by some ancient power. Like their house words. Helaena took another breath, deep and slow. There was a change in the air. It smelt of sulphur and fire and rot. A shadow of a beast as large as her own appeared in the distance. Red and lanky, fierce and unfathomable. Near the size of Vhagar and mighty.

Another breath, perhaps soon to be her last. The weight of the shining silver pauldrons unfamiliar and frightening, yet it kept her grounded. A hand rubbed the pale blue and violet and silver scales, they were hot like a fire, warming and electric against the cold.

The deep green of the singular jewel around her neck. The blade at her hip, unused and untainted. Steel shiny and fresh forged and sharp The golden dragon she had stitched herself marked the hem of the blue-green-black tunic beneath the silver ringmail. Blooming gold and yellow like a bruise. The gods caressed her face, cloud-forged fingers raking through her hair, smoothing braids and tangling through the rest that draped loosely over her back and flowed behind her.

Dreamfyre unleashed a low croon, a growl deep and haunting. Musical, tragic like the songs, tragic like the saints. Fingers dug into the tangle of leather reins and rope, "Gentle mother, font of mercy."

The dragon crooned again as if she was singing along with her. Blood thumped in her ears. Dreamfyre's sapphire spines twisted in the winds, sky and silver membranes like the sails on a ship. Seven hells hath no fury like a mother protecting her children, nor the Fourteen Flames mimic the song of vengeance, cold like ice, burning like fire inside of her heart. Aegon had taken care of the rats, and soon enough, the White Worm would be dead too. She'd show Daemon the true meaning of their house words. Fire for fire, blood for blood.

As her violet eyes befell the form of Caraxes, soaring over the Riverlands, crimson and copper. Flown far enough from where he had split from the skinny brown dragon's side. She strained her eyes to glare at the form of black leather and onyx armour. If this was to be her death, so be it. A fall from the sky, to spikes or to earth, burned like her husband had been, it didn't matter. So long as he was gone. Until he faced punishment for the death he ordered.

Helaena called out in Valyrian, leather and chainmail covered chest pressed into the front of the saddle and reins bound tight around her hands. Strands of silver-gold-moonglow hair flying free of the braids she had woven that very morning. The same braids her mother had taught her all those years ago.

Dreamfyre dove. Soaring swiftly despite her size, the scream of the wind in her ears and against the dragon's mighty wings. As they drew closer, faster and faster and faster. If this was the day of her death, she'd face it with a stiff lip. No return, no return, no reason. She had come this far. Regardless, fear coiled in her belly like a viper ready to strike. Death would always be scary, a stranger, a crow cloaked in shadows with leathery wings like a bat, claws like a dragon and the shape of a tall, thin man lingered in the dark corners of her vision, the Stranger - ready to lead them to the world beyond.

She was not ready to face Jaehaerys. The little boy whose body was butchered and head hacked off by a half-blunt blade - Helaena didn't think she could ever be.. Yet, at the very least, the gods would pass their judgment upon his killers. Pass judgement upon Daemon Targaryen and his band of rabid hounds and scorpions. Death, death! The Stranger crowed through the wind.

The Mother's hymn found its way past her lips and into the wind. Flies and spiders and birds. She pleaded for the Warrior's strength, for the Maiden's goodness and the Father's justice. Fire in her blood, rage belly and thunder in her heart, the gods whispered something soft into her ear. Not a riddle, not a vision nor prophesy. Dreamfyre roared. Fire reigned o'er the back of the crimson beast, mighty dragons of blue and red danced.

#my fics #au #helaena targaryen #helaena the dreamer #queen helaena #helaena takes her revenge au #pro helaena targaryen #dreamfyre #helaena and dreamfyre #oopsie helaena might be a bit ooc but its an au so i do what i want #i don't proof read #just in case/for filtering purposes:#anti team black #anti daemon targaryen

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mj-ackerman · 2 years

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Tatsuya Endo's Character Commentary from the Official Spy x Family Fanbook English Translation:

Someone might've already translated this somewhere, but I wanted to share my own translation here for those who hasn't read it yet^^. I'll start with the Forgers. Long post ahead. DO NOT REPOST

<<Part 2 Here>>

Loid Forger:

(Endo) He's honest and sincere. His disguise is cartoonishly exaggerated, but it is also important that real-life spies have to be (who they are). "Twilight" also came out simple. I wanted to use cooler horizontal characters, but I already submitted it to the meeting as it is, so... Spy should not stand out, so I thought about putting a modest mole or piercings as a character trait, but in the end, I decided not to add anything. As a last resort effort, I added the WISE badge to his collar, although I know that there is no way a spy will wear a company emblem (?) (Laughs). To make it easier for the readers to recognize him, I had him wear this badge as much as possible even when disguised.

(Hayashi) "Having no features became his features" right?

(Endo) The readers may see him as "actually a very nice guy", but in my mind, he has a more flattering image. Although he is not devoid of emotion, he's someone who prioritizes his mission first.

He is technically managing Franky by holding onto his weaknesses in a constructive way, but I think they understand each other. Like Neil and Mozzie in the drama "White Collar", I would like to see a relationship where they are business partners, but still understand each other.

Anya Forger:

(Endo) She moves on her own, so I don't really have much concept for her. Her visual was created by combining "Ashe" from the one-shot "煉獄のアーシェ / Rengoku no Ashe" and "Misha" from "石に薄紅、鉄に星 / Ishi ni Usubeni, Tetsu ni Hoshi". I came up with several ideas for her design, with the image of something like a decoration attached to her head.

Ashe from Rengoku no Ashe (Left) & Misha from Ishi ni Usubeni, Tetsu ni Hoshi. Both are Tatsuya Endo's manga

Anya is getting more and more deformed as I draw her. Her eyes got bigger and her head and body got smaller. I also like round eyes so much that I ended up drawing them right away. She also has a little bit of Hoshimaru from "Narutaru" (by Mohiro Kitoh) in her. I think of mistakes like saying "Odekeke / ooting" on the spot. I think about how a child might make a mistake, or give priority to a comedic tone.

Narutaru, a manga by Mohiro Kitoh

Yor Forger:

(Endo) She is the character that I thought about the most visually. While referencing various video games and anime, I didn't think even 1 millimeter about an assassin's look.

As for the weapon, I got the idea from the main character from the spy novel "Eyes of the Needle'' (by Ken Follett), who uses a needle-like weapon called "Stiletto". Thinking about it, Izumiya from "月華美刃 / Gekka Bijin'' (one of Endo's previous manga) also used a needle weapon, so I may have an image of "Kill= stab" for myself. That's how I also came up with the name "いばら姫 / Ibara Hime / Thorn Princess."

Gekka Bijin, a manga by Tatsuya Endo

Her name was originally "Yolanda", which sounds like an Eastern European name, and it became "Yoru / Yor" as a nickname. I thought it would be better to keep it short for the speech balloon. Then the readers mistakenly thought "Because Loid is Twilight, that's why she's Yoru''Night ``?''. I actually didn't even think about it (LOL).

My favorite part is the overall design. I wanted to create parts that would move with the action, so I made the costume and the fringe flutter. As an assassin, no matter how you look at it, it's hard to move, but I wanted her to look good. I've always liked fighting heroines , and now that I think about it, Princess Arina from "Dragon Quest'' might be my starting point. I drew my first manga in the "Dragon Quest 4-koma Manga Theater'' with the story of Princess Arina. The needles on Yor's both hands may have been inspired by Killer Pierce?

The way her hair curled under the cover of volume 3...I want you guys to pretend that it didn't happen (Laughs) . I know some cosplayers may have tried to recreate it, but...sorry, that was just a joke I thought of.... I think she just put the back together normally and let the sides hang down.

Bond Forger:

(Endo) At the meeting, we were talking about a large dog, and I remember buying a book about dogs. In the end, I made him white and fluffy like a Great Pyrenees. The black toes are original. It's like inverted socks. I wanted to give it some character traits, and if it didn't have solid colors, it would be too white for the manga, and the balance would be off. The image is more like an "uncle dog" than a "grandpa dog."

By the way, I'm totally a cat person, but cats can't run with Anya, so I rejected the idea. The footsteps sound "te-chi-te-chi"... doesn't it sound like that when the ground is hard? Not only Bond, but onomatopoeia was influenced by Nishimori-sensei. Nishimori-sensei's manga with onomatopoeia is so cute.

I'll do the rest later ^^

#long post #spy x family #spy x family official fanbook: eyes only #loid forger #anya forger #yor forger #bond forger #forger family

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unusual-raccoon · 2 months

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Silver Son (Ch. 2) | by Unusual_Raccoon (JaceLuke)

@livinginafantasysposts, @andromaxeoftroy, @saintbehemoth, @mondstaub1, @the-heartlines, @the-white-w0lf, @potatochips-15, @arkah-archive, @lunar-19, @bimyself06

Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Jacaerys Velaryon, Blonde Jacaerys Velaryon, Jace is Daemon's Biological Son, Complicated Relationships, Political Alliances, Canon-Typical Violence, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Jacaerys Velaryon, Omega Lucerys Velaryon (Son of Rhaenyra), Episode: s01e08 The Lord of the Tides (House of the Dragon), Viserys I Targaryen Lives, Daemyra Have Disney Parent-itis = they died, Brother/Brother Incest, POV Alternating, Political Alliances, Arranged Marriage, Valyrian Culture & Customs (A Song of Ice and Fire), Valyrian Wedding, Loss of Virginity, Explicit Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Knotting Summary: With few options left, Lucerys travels to Dragonstone to marry his mother's eldest son and heir, Jacaerys Targaryen. WC: 8,9K+ Ao3 Link

It began with a proposal. The promise of marriage in exchange for protection.

A marriage…to the prince of Dragonstone.

Their breakneck pace had consumed two weeks' worth of time in an instant, and before Lucerys had a true moment to recuperate, he was standing upon blue-veined white marble within the Eyrie’s High Hall.

“Prince Lucerys,” The lady of the Vale welcomed him, eyes as blue as the sky creased at the corners in a small sign of fondness.

“My lady,” he greeted, lowering his head in a show of deference to his host.

“I pray your time in King’s Landing has seen you well.”

“It has my lady, and while I am eternally grateful for your hospitality, I’m afraid I will need to depart from the Eyrie soon.”

To her credit, Jeyne Arryn took the news with aplomb.

“Might I ask, who is stealing you away, dear cousin?”

“I am Targaryen, my lady, I worry you may find the truth upsetting.”

She arched a single brow, the same shade of honeyed-gold as her hair. Whatever fondness she reserved for Lucerys in the months since his mother’s passing seemed to vanish at the mere insinuation of him.

What power you wield, dear brother.

The image of pale hair stained more crimson than silver flashed through his mind.

“I see.” She replied with an icy sort of diplomacy that made his teeth clench cold. Her disdain gleamed through in the blue of her eyes.

“And you’re certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you otherwise?”

She spoke with a royal I, not only of herself but also of the Eyrie and all its vassal houses…House Corbray amongst them. He thought of Ser Corwyn – the kind, gentle Valeman that had seen him return to the Eyrie safely.

Corwyn, who carried Valyrian steel upon his hip. He pondered briefly the wail Lady Forlorn might make when she collided with Dark Sister.

The hairs on his arms stood on end. He prayed it would not come to such unpleasantries.

Yet, as he imagined falling sway to Lady Arryn’s suggestions and wedding Ser Corwyn, Lucerys’ mind only conjured the image of Alyssa’s Tears scorched dry by dragonfire, yellow-orange flames shot through with veins of green, and his betrothed’s body severed at the neck, his handsome head gnashed between Vermax’s thorny jaws…

Have care, I will crush him if he intends to deny your departure.

He recalled his brother’s words even a fortnight later, as though he was yet twined in Jacaerys’ arms rubbing mindless fingers against the dried blood, blood his brother had spilled in Lucerys’ name, upon the velvet of his sleeve. He chastised himself still for the thoughtless creature he had been reduced to with his lungs full of his elder half-brother’s scent: the heat of an open flame and the heady musk of white oak.

The thought inspired a conflicting sense of hot and cold spreading through his body. A simultaneous pleasure and pain.

“I think it is for the best, my lady.”

Her smile was amiable, but far from pleased.

“Very well,” She hummed in acquiescence.

It was not until she descended from her carved weirwood throne that Lucerys voiced another rather pressing concern.

“I must admit, dear cousin, I fear how he will take the news.”

Jeyne Arryn offered a soft smile, her hand folded over the delicate expanse of his forearm and he was reminded of the few times the lady of the Vale had taken him hawking in the Mountains of the Moon.

“He loves you, he’ll understand.” she reminded with a knowing tilt of her lips.

Lucerys exhaled. He hoped love might be enough to soften the blow of his elder brother’s proposal as Lady Jeyne escorted him to his apartments in the Maiden’s Tower.

. . .

A long soak in a marble tub had not seen his nerves much improved. In fact, Lucerys felt more disturbed knowing he was avoiding the inevitable.

He sank deeper into the water scented with orange blossoms and rose hips, while it was a distraction, it was certainly a pleasant one; it did wonders for his sore bottom after two hard weeks on horseback.

He hadn’t dithered for much longer before dressing.

He omitted his usual high-collared samite gown with a laced-tight bodice to accentuate curves nature had failed to provide, in exchange for a soft, modest shift to sleep in.

He layered a patterned dressing gown over his shift to stave off the everpresent wind of the Vale.

There was a knock at the door and Lucerys grimaced. He wasn’t ready, yet still approached his fate with a raised chin - as mother had taught him.

“Prince Lucerys-”

“Ser Corwyn,” He greeted, voice lilted in surprise.

“My deepest apologies, forgive the intrusion, I was not aware-” the knight stammered at Lucerys’ state of dress.

“There is nothing to forgive, the fault is mine own,” Lucerys murmured, cheeks warm, as demure as any proper worshiper of the Seven desired in an Omega.

The insinuation of his nakedness was enough, even layered in sleepwear as he was.

Lucerys crossed bashful arms over himself and Corwyn reddened further.

“I have heard the news of your departure,” Corwyn informed steadily and to the point, eyes focused on some fixed point just over Lucerys’ shoulder.

“From Lady Jeyne, I have no doubt” he had shared the news with none other,“– forgive me, it is uncouth to speak of my host in such a way.”

Corwyn shook his head.

“It was uncouth of my Lady to share business that was not hers.”

Lucerys swallowed, wringing his hands together, discreetly scratching small scent glands in his wrists until the air sweetened with his natural scent.

Vanilla and browned butter.

“I gather that she has informed you as to why I must be leaving…”

Corwyn nodded, nostrils flaring subtly. His jaw tightened.

“She has…”

He looked away, sheepishly with a dusky color upon his cheeks that revealed what his nonexistent scent did not. He chafed at the thought of Lucerys departing to Dragonstone - to Jacaerys.

“Ser, I pray you will not think less of me now…it is not a thought I think I can bear.”

Corwyn’s eyes were a bluish-grey, a beautiful, but understated color that Lucerys admired as the knight turned back towards him in shock.

“My Prince I would never.”

“I don’t believe our Lady shared this information with the thought that it might sour my opinion of you.”

“Oh,” Lucerys exhaled with the kind of smile that enamored countless at court, “good,” he hummed with a dithering kind of naivete a simpering storybook Omega possessed.

Corwyn appeared ensorcelled.

He prayed silently that Jacaerys might be so simple to gain mastery over.

“I believe my cousin has shared with me this news to embolden me…”

Embolden, Lucerys thought. Corwyn’s eyes focused on him then, breathing a touch shallow like he meant to sling Lucerys down onto the floor to ravage him…

Instead, the knight drew Lady Forlorn from the sheath upon his hip.

Lucerys’ heart stilled for a moment before Corwyn knelt before him, head lowered.

“With your permission, my prince, I would swear myself to you…as your protector.”

His brother’s words rang through his head once more as the knight’s hands clasped the weeping woman carved into the sword’s pommel and grip.

You have gone too long without an Alpha. Too long without proper protection.

Lucerys was not acquisitive enough to think he could have both his brother’s protection and Ser Corwyn’s.

A choice was required.

He imagined yet again the sound that Lady Forlorn might make when she clashed with Dark Sister, yet when he pictured Valyrian steel on steel he could only hear the bellow of a dragon…

“You honor me deeply, ser…but, I am afraid I cannot accept. To bind yourself to me on the eve of my marriage…it would not be wise. I fear my betrothed will think ill of it. However, I hope that should I ever need such a gallant knight you might permit me to call upon you?”

Ser Corwyn rose with a conflicted look etched upon his face.

His bluish-grey eyes softened as Lucerys draped an effete hand over the knight’s forearm. Corwyn’s gaze lingered on Lucerys’ hand.

“Of course, my prince.”

Again, Lucerys offered that affable smile and his sweet scent and all was well.

“Rest well, my prince.”

Lucerys blinked slowly, a soft smile about his lips, “I shall certainly rest easier now ser, thank you.”

With Corwyn addressed he would face his greatest challenge yet on the morrow.

. . .

In the morn he was awoken by the sound of his door opening and a riotous blur bolting inside. He was spared only a moment before said blur was atop his bed – bouncing.

“You’re back!”

“Joff,” Lucerys hummed, half asleep, partially shielding his body from each spring of his younger brother’s body.

“You’re back!” He exclaimed again with a wide, gap-toothed smile, “What was the capital like? Did you get to see the king? Is it true that you killed someone?”

Lucerys’ eyes widened immediately, what vestiges of sleep remained fled from him.

He wrangled his younger brother in his hands like catching lightning in a bottle.

Joffrey tugged at the silk sleeves of Lucerys’ shift, irritated at being held captive.

“Where have you heard such things?” Lucerys asked seriously.

“A girl from the kitchens,” Joffrey shrugged, “She said someone died-”

Gods damn Jacaerys Targaryen. Already whispers floated about the validity of his hearing of succession. Matters hadn’t been helped by the same rumor mills purporting that Ser Vaemond’s head had allegedly been fed to his elder brother’s dragon; he had yet to hear the word kinslayer but knew it hung on countless tongues.

“You should not repeat such talk, it is not princely.”

Joffrey tugged upon Lucerys’ sleeve, eager to be released.

“Swear it,” Lucerys commanded with a waggle of his finger.

“Fine, I swear it, let go-”

“You swear what?”

“I swear not to repeat unprincely things, Luke-” Joffrey whined.

Lucerys smiled fondly despite himself and released his grip upon his younger brother, content to let him whirl about.

And whirl he did. He had become so content in the Vale. A part of Lucerys mourned the thought of taking him from what had just started to feel like home. It wasn’t fair.

“Joffrey?” Lucerys called as Joffrey’s dark head bobbed around. His brother fiddled with something on the other side of Lucerys’ apartments; something breakable no doubt.

“Something did happen at court…something important.”

“Is this about you getting married? I already know,” Joffrey said, sounding rather bored as he watched the viscous swirl in a stoppered inkwell.

“Another rumor from your spy in the kitchens?” Lucerys asked, unmoved by his brother’s pout.

“No - and she’s not a spy!” He huffed defensively, “Melara told me that you’ll marry her father. I’m not upset, Luke, I promise. I like Ser Corwyn. If you marry him, do you think he’ll train me to be a knight and give me his sword when I’m older?”

Lucerys felt ill.

“Joffrey, come here,” He beckoned, voice trembling. His brother whined a petulant little noise, but remained at Lucerys’ desk, shaking the stoppered inkwell.

“Now.”

It was cruel, Lucerys knew, but he prayed none of his children were Alphas, that none would ever be so obstinate as his brother - brothers. He prayed for Betas and Omegas to quicken in his belly when the time came, for obedient children with sensible little heads on sensible little shoulders.

“She said House Corbray’s colors are like ours, red and black - and white too, but that we wouldn’t have to change very much.”

Change, Lucerys thought to himself, how much of that have we endured already?

Joffrey continued his blabbering, stubborn at that. Lucerys winced, his frustration mounting to a point of eruption.

“I won’t be marrying Ser Corwyn!”

Distantly, he heard glass shattering as the inkwell toppled to the ground. Lucerys bolted from the bed, taking Joffrey’s little hands in his own. He scrutinized his brother’s palms for any shards of glass amidst the overwhelming pools of ink on his pale skin…

“Why not?!”

“Oh, Joff, look at your hands! You mustn’t be so careless.”

His younger brother tore his hands out of Lucerys’ grasp, visibly crestfallen. The pristine white silk of his sleeve was slashed with ugly splatters of black ink.

“Why aren’t you marrying Ser Corwyn?”

Why? Why indeed…

Lucerys sighed. How could he tell a child of seven years about the politics of the matter? Or worse yet, that in the most aggravatingly primal sense, a piece of him yearned for Jacaerys…

“I’ve been presented with a stronger proposal.”

“But, you said we’d be safe here, that we wouldn’t have to leave!”

His younger brother argued, what else could he have said to a grieving child who had just fled the only home he had ever known? Their exodus from Dragonstone had been a hasty affair, yet in the midst of their pain and fear, it seemed the only thing they could do.

“This proposal means more protection, real protection,” Lucerys swallowed, each breath scraping the inside of his throat like shards of glass as his brother’s face reddened, “Joff, we can go home.”

Tears welled in the muddy brown of Joffrey’s eyes.

He held his brother’s dirty little hands so tightly in his own, clinging desperately.

“But if I am to keep my word, we must leave soon.”

Lucerys brushed an affectionate finger beneath the cleft in his brother’s chin.

“You haven’t misplaced Tyraxes’ saddle have you?”

Joffrey blinked slowly with a dawning realization, sadness forgotten at the prospect of flying again.

“No…”

“Good,” Lucerys hummed before ruffling his brother’s dark curls, swallowing beyond the lump in his throat as he spoke, “you’re going to need it.”

. . .

The fortnight he had allotted had passed, and for two days and two nights longer, Jacaerys had waited.

He had spent 6 years in the North as a ward of Lord Cregan Stark, estranged from his family, and yet, he had never yearned more ardently for his own blood than he did in the two weeks since leaving King’s Landing.

Every morning he waited on Dragonstone's beaches for a young white dragon to pierce the clouds and the scent of vanilla and browned butter to shower him from the sky; for Lucerys to come home to him.

Each day that passed he weighed the worth of simply collecting his brother on dragonback. Of flying to the Eyrie, Dark Sister in hand…like Visenya on Vhagar, and dragging his little wife home.

But then he thought of Lucerys…of sweet, gentle Lucerys.

He refused to force the matter. Lucerys would come to him in time, he knew it…

And so he waited, morning after morning.

And each morning yet he had been disappointed, though he was not the only one.

Baela was still bitter about his decision to break their betrothal that had been arranged since they’d been born…

A marriage done in the tradition of Old Valyria was binding, unbreakable, a union that could never be undone or annulled. Immutable to the word of any king or council. It was everlasting.

He’d been rehearsing the words since he’d had ears to know them. Leagues away in the bitter cold, they had given him warmth. The knowledge he might one day speak them to the one that he loved, as his mother had, as his father had, as was his right.

He was owed this. Tradition dictated for the two oldest children to marry, as Aegon and Visenya had; there was duty and honor in it. By definition, Jacaerys and Lucerys were their mother’s eldest children - the two destined to wed.

He stared at the sky, awaiting his destiny.

. . .

It was the third morning and the sky was a cool blue, drowsy in color when a bright streak sailed through it…

Descending toward the island like a falling star.

Lucerys.

Jacaerys had never seen anything so picturesque, so perfect-

Then came the rambunctious squawk of a dragon scarcely large enough to fly. Black and red and chasing after gulls, belching plumes of black flames.

Joffrey.

“Dohaerās, Tyraxes!” A reedy little voice called.

“Ninkiot, Arrax,” Lucerys commanded calmly and Jacaerys watched as that young dragon, glittering pearl white and gold, spread his wings to slow his descent to the island.

The sea breeze rolled over the shore, tasting of salt and morning air, of vanilla and browned butter…

Lucerys was a vision in supple charcoal gray, wool-lined riding leathers. His dark curls were wind-tossed and his cheeks a ravishing shade of red.

Those beautiful brown eyes widened at the sight of him.

His younger brother cleared his throat, calling up to Joffrey.

“Come down here,” He commanded, “now.”

Lucerys’ expression was unreadable as he marched across the sands toward Jacaerys, Joffrey in tow.

The dragonkeepers handled their mounts, even the unruly Tyraxes who had feathers hanging from his maw.

“Jacaerys,” Lucerys greeted coolly, with a defiant little raised chin. Jace wanted him then and there — marriage be damned, he wished to pup Luke in the sand. He pushed the thought away, quite capable of ignoring his hindbrain.

“Brother,” Jacaerys responded smoothly, smile softening, “welcome home.”

Lucerys gave a small nod, dainty gloved hands clasped together demurely.

“I apologize for making you wait,” Lucerys said primly, poised and practiced and perfect.

Jace chuckled, “Oh, I doubt that very much. Come along, we’ll get you both settled.”

They stepped through the Great Hall’s massive red doors, flanked by household guards at every step.

He felt Lucerys gasp as he pressed a palm to the small of his brother’s back, leading him into the hall. Luke walked along, spine stiff, his scent dripping from his pores.

It was surreal, sharing the space with Lucerys once more… It had been so long since they had been here together, lived here together.

“Prince Jacaerys,” Maester Gerardys greeted fondly, “and Prince Lucerys, how comforting it is to see you two together once more…”

For the first time since his brother had returned home, Jacaerys witnessed that icy demeanor thaw. His smile was soft and genuine and beautiful…

“It is…good to be home,” He answered, and to Jacaerys’ surprise, his words seemed sincere. Buried somewhere beneath the stoicism his younger brother wore like a coat of mail, he was happy.

“Your mother would be pleased.”

Lucerys’ throat bobbed and his eyes misted, for a moment he seemed to lean into Jacaerys’ touch upon his back. He steadied Lucerys instantly, naturally — it was what elder brothers were meant to do.

He caught a brief flash of gratitude in the corner of a brown eye when Lucerys glanced back at him.

“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Jacaerys said softly, to which Lucerys nodded, a pliant little thing.

“I know where my room is,” Joffrey called, running off blindly, to Lucerys’ horror and Jace’s amusement. Lucerys seemed mortified of Joffrey’s boyish behavior, like some minute thing would pull the rug out from beneath them, as though he may cast them out to the wilds once more…

He’d sooner fall upon his own sword than permit such a thing to happen.

“It’s alright,” Jace soothed, tasting the frantic spike in his younger brother’s scent, vanilla and burnt butter, “he’s home too.”

Lucerys nodded, swallowing thickly.

“When will the ceremony be?” Lucerys asked, his voice steady like he’d practiced the words.

“When would you like it to be?” Jace asked in return, something that seemed to bewilder his younger brother who stared up at him owlishly. Something he hadn’t prepared for.

“Soon,” he said, a tad uncertain as Jacaerys slowly circled him like prey.

“Soon?” Jacaerys echoed with a wily smirk. Lucerys’ brow dipped in what he knew was annoyance.

“Yes, soon, unless you intend on making me wait.”

There he was, Jacaerys grinned, all teeth - his Luke.

“Had I known you were so eager to be my wife, I never would have left King’s Landing without you…” His lips touched his younger brother’s ear.

Lucerys exhaled a shaky breath that he very badly wanted to be a scoff, struggling to right his mask of aloofness. The rich scent of vanilla and browned butter, nutty and earthen and sweet, betrayed him.

“Is tonight soon enough for you, brother?” Jacaerys asked, his subvocals flanging.

Lucerys turned, blinking up at him, pink-cheeked.

“Y-yes.”

“Good.”

“Good,” Lucerys said with his raised little chin, as though he had been so decisive, to begin with; Jacaerys could only focus on the cute cleft of his chin that he wished to trace with his tongue.

Without another word, his younger brother turned and exited the Great Hall, marching down a corridor after Joffrey.

. . .

Valyrian wedding ceremonies were not as time-consuming as weddings performed under the faith of the seven. The very same priest that had performed their mother’s wedding was summoned to conduct theirs.

The materials had been gathered and garments prepared.

A natural stone dias was dressed accordingly. A thick chalice of inscribed Valyrian steel sat upon the dias, filled halfway from a decanter of blood wine.

Jacaerys’ hands shook as he reached for the traditional robes worn during Valyrian wedding ceremonies. The fabric was a pale cream color, with thick blood-red collars and a gradient along the hem and sleeves.

They were meant to symbolize blood purity… the irony wasn’t lost on him.

“Father was the last to wear these…”

Jacaerys exhaled, fingers trailing over the dyed collar of the robe. He never had the right to refer to Daemon Targaryen as his father publically, yet as he stared at the garment, shapeless against his dressing table, it felt right. His father had worn these robes, and Jacaerys would wear them after him.

“He’d be proud of you…”

Baela intoned, her voice alarmingly gentle despite how angry she had been with him in the past weeks.

“Even if I’m marrying against his wishes?”

His sister smiled a radiant thing. Pretty enough to kiss, but he knew better than to try.

“Especially because you’re marrying against his wishes. You chose your own bride…he’d admire that.”

Baela stepped closer, inspecting the ceremonial garment. The fabric seemed endless when lifted into her tiny hands.

“You have every right to wear them, Jace. You’re a Targaryen.”

He nodded and began unlacing his tunic.

“Slower,” His sister bade, her deep violet eyes raking over every ounce of unveiled flesh with unbridled want. Spice flower and cinnamon hung heavy in the air. There was time when that scent beckoned him like a siren’s call, yet there had always been another scent, more potent —— dragonsong.

“I don’t want to forget a thing,” She added sadly, and Jacaerys felt a twinge of regret…she had always been good to him.

Jacaerys slowed, plucking away each individual lace with the utmost care. The garment swayed open and he heard the sharp intake of her breath.

He smiled softly. He couldn’t marry her, but he could give her this.

. . .

It all felt foreign to Lucerys like something out of a dream. His hair painfully twined into a snug series of plaits and braids atop of which the ceremonial headdress was placed.

The robes were long, the dyed hem puddled like blood around his feet.

Unbidden emotion snagged in his throat as he straightened the headdress. His entire life had led to this moment, from the day he was born and the maester had announced what resided between his legs. He was an Omega, he was born to be someone’s wife. Jacaerys’ wife. His face burned hot for reasons he dared not contemplate.

He was to be married and his mother wasn’t here to witness it…

He glared at his reflection in the looking glass.

He blinked away the tears quickly and straightened his back. Jacaerys wanted a wife and he’d get one…and Lucerys would get the legitimacy he’d been lacking. He would certainly be a wife, but Jacaerys had been born an Alpha —— he would become Lucerys’ weapon. It was all he could find comfort in; for this was not a union borne of love.

Lucerys’ bravado held up quite nicely as they traveled to the dais where the ceremony would be held. Jacaerys looked as he always did, aggravatingly handsome; rakish, even, in the long ceremonial robes with his silver hair bound in twists away from his face.

Countless candles burned around the dias, ensconcing them in a golden hue.

It was surreal, standing on warmed stone in the very same spot, in the very same gown his mother had once worn…

Joffrey stood beside Maester Gerardys, a sour look on his little face, in the same spot where Lucerys had stood as a child. Fragmented memories of his mother’s wedding washed over him like the dewy evening rain.

A hand in his clutched so tightly. Father had died. Warm lips pressed to his crown, there was no giggling when he pressed his cold little feet to the backs of warm knees; just a need to be sated, and comfort that was given. There was no room for laughter on the grim day. Mother had never looked so beautiful. The hand in his was pulled away. It hurt, that missing piece, like a severed limb…

“Luke?”

Lucerys felt the memory fade away as he blinked his way back to the present. Jacaerys stared at him with unabashed concern.

“Hm?” he hummed, “I’m sorry.”

“Are you ready for the ceremony to begin?” The priest asked.

“Yes,” Jacaerys said without hesitation, and all eyes were on Lucerys.

“Yes,” Luke nodded, the tassels of the headdress bouncing.

“Very well.”

Ceremonial dragonglass daggers were given to each of them.

“I’ll go first,” Jacaerys told him and Lucerys nodded, and when he smiled at Luke, it was the smile of an elder brother.

Rest easy, little brother, that roguish smile said, I’m here. His hands trembled as he brought the shard to his Jacaerys’ mouth. He didn’t flinch when Luke cut him. The dagger split the supple flesh of Jacaerys’ lower lip with ease. Blood oozed bright and warm. He gathered some upon his thumb, transfixed by it. The candles seemed to glow brighter, the air more fragrant. He painted the sigil upon Jacaerys’ skin.

His own dagger was lowered as Jacaerys approached. A large hand came to grip his chin, stroking the skin fondly. He tensed in anticipation of the sting of the dagger. He met his brother’s gaze, those hypnotic violet eyes, silver lashes brushed gold in the candlelight. He felt warm, very warm wrapped in Jace’s scent. His hindbrain was alight. Gently, the dagger sliced his lower lip, he hardly felt it.

He blinked and Jacaerys’ thumb was wet with his blood.

The liquid crimson felt hot against his skin as his brother painted the accompanying sigil.

Blood would flow, and their line would continue.

He watched as Jacaerys’ dagger carved a wound across his palm. Lucerys did the same.

The priest carried forth the chalice and spoke the binding words. An embroidered chord of gold tied them together.

“Hen lantoti ānogar”

Blood of two

“Va sȳndroti vāedroma”

Joined as one

Jacaerys’ hand clasped with his, the open wounds upon their palms bleeding into one another. Unerringly intimate; eternally entwined. The golden chord soaked crimson. Red oozed into the chalice.

“Elēdroma iārza sīr”

And song of shadows

“Izulī ampā perzī”

Two hearts as embers

Lucerys stared into the chalice, at the placid surface of the blood wine, small dots of liquid crimson littered the rim, like crushed garnets. His reflection stared back.

The wine smelled of figs and iron and was thick upon his tongue. He’d never known something so foreign, yet so perfect. Heat raced in his veins when he swallowed it. Jacaerys’ eyes never left his, his hand clutched so tightly…they were a perfect fit.

“Prūmī lanti sēteksi”

Forged in Fourteen flames

Fourteen candles stood taller than the rest.

“Hen jenȳ māzīlarion”

A future promised in glass

Jacaerys tilted the chalice toward his lips. Lucerys squeezed at his brother’s hand, fresh blood sticking between their palms.

“Qēlossa ozūndesi”

The stars stand witness

“Sȳndroro ōñō jēdo”

The vow spoken through time

“Rȳ kīvia mazvestraksi.”

Of darkness and light.

“Your vows must be spoken.”

Lucerys nodded and swallowed the urge to mewl as Jacaerys’ hand squeezed his; both comforting and consuming.

“One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever,” they spoke the words in unison. The lingering taste of wine on his tongue deepened. The richness of Jacaerys’ scent thickened in his lungs. He could taste only fire and blood…

The priest lowered his hands and inclined his hooded head towards them to indicate the ceremony was complete. Lucerys’ entire being pulsed hotter than the dragonmont. They were married. Bound in blood.

He stared at Jacaerys, still struggling to fathom when his brother’s lips were on his - kissing him, ravenously; like he had waited his entire life for such a moment. And it returned to him, the frayed pieces of a memory, like torn pages in a book, as Jacaerys’ hands gathered his face between them, tender and so familiar - they had done this before.

Oh.

He felt a fool.

He gasped when his brother pulled away, mouth red. Lucerys’ legs felt boneless. His hand clutching Jacaerys’ sleeve, anchored to his brother, his husband, his other half…

Jacaerys’ tongue chased the trickle of crimson from Lucerys’ mouth. He mewled then, openly, unabashedly, without meaning to.

His brother’s forehead touched his, tacky with blood. A deep flanging purr swelled there and Lucerys struggled to remain upright with his knees turned to liquid. A strong arm curled around his waist.

The sky shook with the triumphant cries of Vermax and Arrax. Blasts of dragonfire burst above them in a spectrum of color, yellow-orange, gold, copper, and bronze, swirls of white, pearl, emerald, and jade green. There were streaks of rainbow light where their flames collided as their dragons danced in the sky overhead.

With the wedding complete, only one thing remained…

Their wedding night.

. . .

The inside of the Lord’s chambers were carved in dark stone, the snarling heads of dragons frame towering columns around the bed, a blood-red canopy draped above it.

Dragonstone was not known for its forgiving weather, and despite the chill that was ever-present in the air, Lucerys felt like the flesh might slough off his bones from the heat that raged within him.

A fire burned in the hearth that resembled a dragon’s maw, with flames crackling between pointed stone teeth.

A touch dragged featherlight over his pulse and he gasped, body burning hotter than the fire.

He looked at his brother - his husband with new eyes.

“Forgive me,” He murmured in apology, “I feel…warm.”

Jacaerys offered a smile, a flash of pointed teeth that left Lucerys breathless.

“‘Tis your blood calling.” His husband explained.

Lucerys flushed deeply.

“Do not fret,” Jacaerys hummed, fingers finding Lucerys’ chin, stroking the skin fondly, “We will answer it.”

Lucerys nodded, struck into a demure state, his heart hammered hard in his chest.

There was nothing entirely complicated about seduction, Lucerys knew, most Alphas simply desired a chase. A submissive bit of prey that they could play with before devouring them whole. It became clear Jacaerys was no different in that regard.

It brought to mind a memory far more recent…

“Tilt your head, just gently over your shoulder. A tad more. Perfect. Lower your eyelids. Less, Lucerys.” Daemon clucked.

“I feel like an imbecile,” Lucerys complained, though his step-father chuckled.

“I assure you, you don’t look like one.”

He snorted, “Is this how mother got you to fall in love with her?”

Daemon hummed a laugh, flicking Lucerys’ ear as he passed by, “Don’t slouch, extend your neck. There. Delightful. Any Alpha with a knot between their legs will understand the invitation. And, no, your mother was the exception in that regard.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes. Unsurprised to find that his mother, as always, was so perfect.

“You have no shortage of suitors, even now, but it never hurts to know how to keep them.”

Lucerys flushed, “I have…suitors?”

Daemon nodded, “Many. Amongst our vassals Houses Bar Emon, Celtigar, and Massey have already put forth proposals for your hand. You even have the attention of an Alpha up North…”

“Truly?” Lucerys gasped, strangely flattered.

“He’s been the most persistent of all,” Daemon said with a wink.

“That’s enough practice for today, little one. With any luck, matters of marriage won’t be relevant for some time. At least not while your mother and I draw breath.”

The fresh loss of his parents' death yawned open once more, like a gash across his heart, at the memory, but he ignored the pain. His blood had already spilled today. Lucerys turned his back to Jacaerys as he began the tedious process of removing countless metal pins from his hair. Discreetly, he nipped at the scent gland in his wrist.

The aroma of vanilla and browned butter, rich and sweet dripped into the air. A Siren’s call.

Unlike Ser Corwyn who had merely blushed and floundered at the presence of his scent, his husband however, evidenced a more promising reaction.

He heard the sharp intake of Jacaerys’ breathing. The subtle beginnings of a growl left Lucerys weak at the knees.

He shook his curls loose with a soft sigh, he arched his back with an indulgent stretch.

When he turned back towards his husband, he did so employing everything Daemon had taught him. His head tilted coyly, his eyes hooded just right, bare neck extended boldly…

“Husband,” he called with intention, his voice a touch higher than it typically was, “shall we- mmph!”

Being kissed was as disorienting as it had been the first time, scorching, the taste of blood on his tongue. His husband’s hand cupped his bottom. Lucerys considered it a rousing success.

He panted, mouth slick. Jacaerys’ tongue glided against the roof of his mouth and something glittery and warm surged down to his toes. His brother’s fingers curled beneath Lucerys’ chin. A softer, kinder kiss was pressed to his crown, and yearning opened up in him like an old wound.

“I’ve missed you…” Jace whispered against Lucerys’ dark fringe. Longing resounded in his voice, spanning deep like the roots of a tree.

Lucerys swallowed, a strange sense of guilt left him feeling hulled. A part of him wanted to feel what his brother did as well, yet there were still pages torn from their story in his mind; pages he feared he may never recover.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t-“ He stammered, frightened that his husband may be slighted by history Lucerys had forgotten…

“I know,” Jacaerys soothed, thumb pressed to the cleft in Lucerys’ chin. A dizzy back and forth was etched in his flesh by the callused pad of his husband’s finger.

When his brother kissed him a second time, it was a slower exchange. Jacaerys’ mouth and tongue coaxed his into action. It was evocative, sensual, reciprocal; dragonsong. It was the stoking of embers, the spreading of wildfire to every corner of his being.

“On the bed,” his brother growled, a crass hand swatted his bottom.

Lucerys nodded.

Their robes were placed aside and Lucerys settled upon the bed, skin bare and pulsing hot.

He laid carefully upon his stomach, firelight licking at his back. His face burned as he arched his back, his bottom sticking out in subtle invitation.

The bed dipped beneath the addition of another body and Lucerys drew in a steadying breath. His lungs were coated with the aroma of white oak and an open flame; heady and thick. His hindbrain secreted pacifying pheromones that left him strangely at peace.

He was going to be claimed, he realized, holding fistfuls of sheets. He would be mounted like a broodmare…

A warm hand grazed his spine.

A breath that smelled of figs and blood wine caressed his ear.

“What are you doing?”

Laid upon his stomach, Lucerys should have felt vulnerable; his neck was left exposed. He tilted his head against the bedding, curls loose as he caught the corner of his husband’s statuesque visage knelt upon the bed.

“I-” Lucerys swallowed, mouth uncomfortably dry. Even now, as bare as the day he was born, he was meant to exude aplomb. Jacaerys clearly desired a confident lover.

“I am not so naive, journals and written accountings detail that being upon one’s stomach is the most efficient way to ensure a successful mount…”

Jacaerys’ expression remained unreadable, but then he chuckled that pleasant sound that buzzed in Lucerys’ ears.

“...a successful mount.” Jacaerys echoed to himself with a shake of his damnable silver head. Lucerys flushed hot with embarrassment, feeling anything but confident.

A warm hand settled upon the small of his back. The simple touch inspired a strange building pressure. Jacaerys’ lips touched his ear and Lucerys exhaled a flustered sound into the bedding.

“You have spent too long with Andals that do not know how to fuck…”

His husband’s voice dripped thick and hot into his skull, like honey, or blood. His quim clenched. His husband seemed intent on showing Lucerys the error in his ways.

“Fucking is a pleasure. And Omegas were made to be pleased.”

There was lightning in Jacaerys’ voice, raw power, like the crackling of logs in the hearth.

“Here,” Jacaerys murmured, “turn over.”

He blinked up at him, at his pale hair, at his violet eyes that were nearly glazed black, at the sharp contrast of gold light and rich velvety shadows painted by the hearth across his husband’s body. His mouth had grown wet at his lean abdomen and sturdy shoulders, at his firm chest and strong arms…

A picturesque virile Alpha.

“There you are,” Jacaerys hummed, eyes so very fond.

His thighs are eased apart and Jacaerys settled between them. Each touch exchanged between them felt like it might set them alight. Mere kindling to a fire.

Every sensation titillated and overwhelmed.

A finger trailed featherlight from the hollow of his throat to the spot above his navel where that building pressure persisted. He was left gasping. Tears beaded in his eyes.

“Mm,” Lucerys sighed, unaccustomed to such intimacy, such nearness as his husband caressed the spot as the feeling worsened.

His fingers dipped lower toward the dark mound of his quim, wiry curls matted with slick.

Lucerys’ hips leapt from the bed with a cry at the barest touch. A clever, knowing thumb unveiled his bud, teasing it. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, wetting his temples, inevitably soaking into his loose curls.

His husband’s damp fingers teased along the seam of his quim; leisurely, as if skimming the lines of a book he had read before.

He felt as a digit slipped down to the knuckle into his velvety embrace.

“Jacaerys,” He croaked. The concave dip of his stomach quivered as his husband’s attention returned to the pink ache of his bud; his fingers made a lewd sound, so thoroughly wetted with slick.

Jacaerys’ silver head lowered with a knowing look and began to kiss him breathlessly; each press of Jace’s lips against his own selfishly stole what air remained in his lungs, and good sense from his mind.

He anchored a fist in his husband’s pale hair if only for an ounce of control, to claim something in return.

He sucked on Jacaerys’ tongue when it dipped into his mouth; he felt his husband’s body shake with a melodic swell of his subvocals.

“When I claim you, it shall be like this,” Jacaerys murmured through spit-slick lips into Lucerys’ panting mouth, their foreheads were pressed together, tacky with dried blood and sweat.

“Not for a ‘successful mount’, but so that I may look upon you, so that I may see the pleasure writ across this face,” His husband paused mouthing at Lucerys’ jaw, weight steadied on a forearm, Jace gazed down at him with such longing, “to have gone six years without it, ‘tis a crime against our nature. Yours and mine.”

Lucerys longed to pry the words apart, like field dressing a fresh kill, to permit nothing to escape his grasp nor understanding. Yet, his husband’s fingers grazed his cunt once more and all sense was lost, bleeding from the pulsing, open wound of his weeping gash.

A few fingers glided into his heat, effortlessly and Lucerys moaned. Ashamed of how easily his body had been reduced to something so carnal.

He was lost in the pleasure, the thick haze of pheromones in his head, and the scent of Jacaerys in his lungs.

When his hips leapt once more, it was to chase the rhythm of Jacaerys’s fingers spreading him open; shaping the walls of his quim like a smith molded metal — with patience and dedication.

His husband’s digits sought deep, fingers squelching amidst the sticky nectar and slick flesh. Without preamble, that knot of tension above Lucerys’ navel was pulled so readily to its limits, fingers pressing at the tender raised flesh until the tension broke.

Lucerys yowled, the sensation smarted, whip-fast as he came undone. His cocklet, stiff and yearning just above the seam of quim, spurted a few delicate ribbons of white against his stomach and chest. His quim gushed as a more potent release took hold, soaking around his husband’s fingers and onto the bed. A pleasure swallowed him so readily that he could not make sense of an end or beginning.

A garbled stream of hybridized Valyrian and common peppered his ears like a rain of arrows.

“There you are,” Jacaerys huffed, eyes ablaze with awe, “Issa lēkia.”

“ābrazȳrys…” he snarled, “mate…”

His body, so laden with pheromones only longed for one thing. To be claimed.

What power you wield, dear brother.

Jacaerys had tasted his blood once already. Surely he wanted more, needed more, needed to sink his teeth into Lucerys’ neck, where his bonding gland lay pristine and untouched.

“I, I need-”

“I shall give you what you need, wife.”

Pangs of longing littered his flesh, like ground glass in raw meat. He watched, mouth wet as Jacaerys’ cock swayed heavy and thick between well-muscled thighs.

It seemed impossibly large then; too large.

“Mm, b-brother… it won’t-”

“It will fit,” Jacaerys assured with a smile that Luke wanted terribly to believe, a brief kiss was pressed to Lucerys’ lips, “you were made for this,” another kiss, “you were made for me.”

Lucerys nodded, permitting his body to fall slack, tensionless, sedate with pheromones and supplicant for his Alpha.

The fattened head of his husband’s cock rubbed slowly along his quim, gathering nectar along the girth.

His stomach quivered as the glistening crown of Jacaerys’ manhood pressed obscenely large to Luke’s quim, puffy and pink.

“Shh,” Jacaerys soothed. His thumb toyed with Lucerys’ bud, rubbing tender little circles as the head applied a hint more pressure.

His legs spasmed as pleasure frothed in his belly.

He whined, the lips of his quim stretching to welcome the thick, drooling head.

His hips inched higher as Jacaerys’ eased lower. He envisioned the steel-tipped head of an arrow piercing the soft cushion of a straw-stuffed target.

The lips of his quim opened like a flower in bloom.

Jacaerys held himself painfully still as Lucerys mewled beneath him at the thin barrier of his maidenhead halting his brother’s path.

His brother kissed the salty spill of his tears; seeming to savor them as readily as he had Luke’s blood.

He awaited the agony that every maester and septa warned young Omegas of, for a geyser of blood to burst from between his thighs as his Alpha sank down to the bulb of his knot.

Yet, as Jacaerys finally slipped completely inside, it wasn’t at all as violent as Lucerys had imagined. It stretched the walls of his quim to what felt like its limits, certainly, but, the sensation did not inspire any pain. Rather, it felt like a wound being sewn shut, flesh knitted together, a sword in a sheath, a sense of completeness so profound that he wished to weep.

Oh.

“There you are,” Jace panted, a wry turn to his lips before his hips eased back.

A hand cradled his jaw as they laid, forehead to forehead, nose to nose. Blood upon their skin, sharing the same dewy breath.

One flesh, one heart, one soul…

The motion of Jacaerys’ hips was fluid, they beat against him as wrathful as the gale upon the sea. Every wave threatened to drag him under. Devastatingly beautiful.

Lucerys gasped, mouth agape as his brother’s eyes stared into his. Jacaerys’ hips pumped, large cock pushing and pulling his insides; molding him anew.

There was a harmony to it, the creaking of the bed, the crackling of the logs, the wet rhythm of Jacaerys’ hips colliding with his. The blood-red canopy above the bed quivered like a razed kingdom behind his husband’s silver head.

He dug frantic nails into the muscle of his brother’s back. He felt power. True power rippling beneath his fingertips.

The broad tip of his brother’s manhood found the raised flesh tucked away within his walls upon every thrust; pleasure spiraled and screamed within him.

Jacaerys’ grip tightened around his jaw. He began to lose track of what limbs were his and which were not.

Barely-there breasts bounced with every thrust, grazing his brother’s muscled chest. His nipples pebbled stiff as they scraped against Jacaerys, the sensation worsening the tension that tangled in his belly.

His quim fluttered, each pulse yearned to draw his husband deeper.

Lucerys dug a heel into the flexing muscle of his husband’s buttocks, urging him faster.

He mewled. Beyond words. Thrashing to bare his neck; recalcitrant and desperate. That only made Jacaerys fuck him harder.

Bloated stones, swollen with seed, slapped against Lucerys’ milk-white bottom.

Jacaerys’ free hand dug into the pliant flesh of Lucerys’ soft little bottom, urging his narrow hips to meet every harrowing plunge of Jace’s cock.

The wet lips of his quim, stretched thin, kissed the bulbous swell of Jacaerys’ knot upon every perfect union of their hips.

He urged his hips down, guided by his brother’s hand, yearning in a primal mania to have that knot inside of him.

The head of his brother’s cock kissed his womb, caressing that soft pink channel on every deep thrust.

His insides felt molten, like the flesh may slough off his bones at any moment. Like every cant of his brother-husband’s hips urged a tongue of dragonfire to lap at that sacred place. The place he yearned to have filled.

Jacaerys offered the dripping length of his tongue and Lucerys suckled upon it readily, filled by him so completely.

He anchored himself to his husband, nails caught upon the rippling muscle of his back.

He has no words left to give, save for a garbled string of “please”.

“Are you close, my love?”

Jacaerys asked, voice little more than a growl, his forehead pressed to Luke’s.

Lucerys thrashed at the delicious torment of his building release, tears streamed down his cheeks. He was close, horrendously so.

His husband’s lips found his, drinking deeply of his anguish.

The cadence of his husband’s thrust had grown all the more ardent in response. The very bed seemed to quake. Yet all he could see was Jacaerys, the silver of his hair, the violet of his eyes, Lucerys’ own blood painted upon his skin…

“Please!” Lucerys cried out, drunk upon the scent of white oak and an open flame, burning with a longing writ in their shared blood upon his very bones. Stripped of all constraints and vanity, he was simply an Omega in dire need of his Alpha.

When he arched his neck, his husband hadn’t the will to refuse a second time. He mouthed at the spot that so dearly needed attention, he adored it with his lips and tongue.

Each thrust fucked him so deeply into the rich, sweat-soaked featherbed. He arched, yowling at the unbearable sensation of his husband’s broad head at his womb.

“Once more, wife,” Jacaerys panted, breath hot as dragonfire ghosted along his lips, “come for me, brother. Shower me in your love.”

His bud was found and assaulted with the unrelenting press of sword-callused fingers; Urging him and higher.

And in a moment, he was undone, his release snapped like their chord of blood-red and gold and his world shook like all of Dragonstone would fall apart around them. His release gushed from his stretched-wide quim, drenching his husband and the bedding further. Jacaerys growled a deeply pleased guttural sound, his hips continued to pump into the squelching mess of Lucerys’ dripping sex, the firm grip of his hand cradled Lucerys’ jaw, forbidding him from looking elsewhere, at anything but Jacaerys.

He could only watch as a trembling look of awe passed over his husband’s face.

Jace’s hips surged forward and Luke bowed off of the bed at the undeniable ache of his husband’s knot popping inside. The thick head pressed against the slender pink opening of Lucerys’ womb. His thighs shook. Teeth were at his neck, kissing then breaking the skin. The bite was clean and perfect and unifying. Lucerys cried out towards the blood-red canopy above them. In that moment he saw a burst of color behind his eyes: the endless rainbow of their combined dragonfire. A third sharp release was upon him; brief and blinding. His cocklet spurted weakly, his quim clenched, milking the fattened bulb of his Alpha’s knot. A desperate whine fell from his lips as he felt it begin to swell. They were tied now, irrefutably: in body and blood.

His unspooling mind retreated to their vows once more as his brother’s seed distended the concave of his belly —— one flesh, one heart, one soul.

A rumbling purr started in his chest and his fingers wound through Jacaerys’ silver hair of their own volition. It was an intrinsic need as primal as the ache to purr, was the need to touch his brother. His husband. His mate.

He became prey pinned beneath his Alpha. His toes curled in atavistic delight.

He felt unbearably whole like he had found his missing piece.

When his brother’s lips inevitably withdrew from the fresh site of Lucerys’ bondmark, he was overcome with the bone-deep urge to weep. Yet, Jacaerys soothed him with a low, nearly musical flange of his subvocals that said, ‘Rest easy, little brother. I am here.’ Lucerys felt the spike of pacifying pheromones filling his frantic hindbrain, putting him promptly at ease. He felt the press of an aquiline nose to his temple, gentle and familiar. He fought his body's need to fall slack and submissive, instead twisting stubbornly upon the bed if only to feel the tug of his Alpha’s knot keeping them tied. A satisfied prickle of overstimulated tears stung his eyes. A dutiful tongue lapped at the slow ooze of blood from the site upon his neck.

A tug persisted at the base of his skull. A nascent thing through which all flowed. Their bond.

There was no word so apt for his current state other than claimed. Even still, adrift within the overwhelming emotion of it all, Lucerys sought some semblance of assurance; some logic to the disorder Jacaerys had made of him.

His mind scrabbled for clarity, despite how his eyelids drooped and his limbs curled into the preternatural heat of his Alpha’s body, wrapped in the woodsy aroma of white oak and the bittersweet bite of an open flame.

He fell deeper still into a place so utterly content as an aquiline nose and warm lips nuzzled fondly at his hairline. It was not long until whisps of vanilla and browned butter roamed in fragrant curls from his sweat-slicked skin.

“I’ll be going soon,” Lucerys said amidst a yawn as firm fingers pressed warm divots into the underside of his thigh.

“Going where, precisely?” Jacaerys asked, indolent, but displeased. The emotion trickled over, like rainwater through a leaking roof. Lucerys frowned at the feeling.

He thought of propriety, of what he’d been taught of formal marriages such as theirs.

“To my own chambers, husband,” Lucerys informed, though he hadn’t the strength to lift his head while he spoke.

“I could use the rest,” he added sweetly, knowing an Alpha’s ego was utterly in want of stroking.

Jacaerys exhaled through his nose before Lucerys felt its straight bridge touch the upturned curl of his own.

“Mm,” his Alpha hummed, “then rest.”

Longing poured over as a hand settled at the dip in Lucerys’ waist where they lay.

“You are my wife now, Lucerys. My chambers are yours.”

Curious, he thought to himself.

It brought to mind a memory formerly lost to him…

“Let me in!” Lucerys demanded in a nasally whisper, lips pressed to the crack in the door.

“Jace-”

The door budged far enough for him to catch the gleam of his elder brother’s silver-gold hair and he felt a swell of victory.

“I can’t let you in, Luke. Mother will have my head-”

“She will not! Oh, Jace, she won’t catch us. She never does.”

Jacaerys’ face twisted in a conflicted expression, but in his heart, Lucerys knew he had won. The door swung open and Lucerys rushed inside. His hand clasping with his brother’s pulling him towards the bed.

“You mustn’t make a sound, hm?” Jacaerys warned, a finger held to Luke’s lips.

Lucerys nodded giddily.

“I won’t. I promise.”

As the memory faded, Lucerys found himself unbearably drowsy, his head pressed to a strong chest, his cold little feet tucked to the backs of warm knees, as familiar as the lines traversing his palms.

I had mastered you once brother, he thought to himself as he squirmed closer into the cage of his husband’s arms, I can do it again.

#my writing #jaceluke #jaceluke agenda #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys targaryen #dark jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #jacaerys x lucerys #hotd fanfic

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wifetomegatron · 8 months

Text

one hundred and one nights (overlord/reader)

summary : reader gets abducted by overlord. he has an infatuation. pairing : overlord (idw) / afab! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : e for explicit and mild descriptions of gore & dubious consent, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, references to human disembodiment, human!reader, smut, sticky sexual interfacing tags : a lot of references to fairytail / folklore, mostly one-hundred and one nights & this goyard painting.

I. You've heard stories about him. Luna two, Garrus-nine, Hell's point. Albeit not from Swerve, or Chromedome, or Rodimus — that would be ridiculous. Impossible, even, when his name is already non-existent in the space of a ship big enough to fit thousands of Cybertornians. Not even a whisper, as if people were afraid that a slip of his name would be mistaken for a prayer and he would come to life, emerging from the shadowy corners of the Lost Light. Optics, sickly artificial red as they burn holes through the veil. But not even Primus would be as cruel as to materialize Overlord here. At least, you had hoped.

Only several nights before were you and Ratchet discussing him. The doctor knew you deserved an explanation for what transgressed over the weekend with Fort Max, Whirl, and Rung. On who he was, what he has done, and what he will continue to do if his spark wasn't sealed in a white vacuum — serpentine green drowning in nothing. The silence stretched for what felt like years, minutes solidifying themselves midair to bake the air thick. And your mouth was dry, face drained of its color. You didn't ask further, choosing to retreat into your room, where you made the last-minute decision to sleep with the lights on.

It was an irrational fear, you thought. To be afraid of someone light years away, deconstructed and stuffed in a box.

And yet here you are, trapped inside a prison chamber with him — limbs suspended, mouth curled into a grin.

II. It was a stupid accident. A stupid, preventable accident that could have been avoided if everyone had just sat down and listened to the noises Red Alert had been talking about. Their audials would have picked up the voices, the whispers, traveling through a crack big enough for you to slip into. Down the rabbit hole, you fell very slowly before hitting your shoulders square against the crown of Overlord’s head. Slipping ungracefully down an arm, and into the palm of his chained hand. You should have never taken directions from Whirl, because God knows how long it’ll take for the crew members to realize you were gone. And how many seconds left do you have to live, considering that you had conveniently fallen into his grip? A curse. A gift.

“What’s this?” He asked aloud. A dragon waking from his slumber, voice heavy as they echo throughout metal walls, “ Hm. They brought me a plaything.”

You couldn’t speak. Stunned mute as your head barely manages to recover from the impact. The chains rattled slightly, and he squeezed you — yet you were still intact. Surprisingly whole, save not for a few bruises. He says it’s because he’s bored. And that there’s no fun in having you bleed all over when he can’t clean himself up after.

He demanded you to speak and so you did, finding courage in your voice. Yet it sounded so tiny compared to his. And Overlord reveled in this. The more you tried to prove you weren’t afraid the more he’d tighten his grip, horrified to know that this level of self-restraint had (most likely) earned you a broken rib. You wonder what would happen if he had less motivation to keep you alive.

So you became Scheherazade and spoke softly in between trembling breaths. The boiling temperature inside this circular prison may very well be the Sahara, and if you flutter your eyes shut you can hear the sand dunes sing with the wind. And you lay in a dimly lit room with your new husband, spinning him a story so that he won’t plunge his blade past your sternum — the tip of his silver knife shimmering under firelight as they nick your pulse point. Overlord was your Shahryār, yet you wondered if he was just as curious as the prince or if he was too clever to be outwitted by a story. Most likely the latter. Yet maybe he’s just willing to play along, knowing that he will always be the cat, and never the bird. That there’s only one ending — for he has robbed you of your sunrise and conquered all your dusks— so might as well make it count.

III. But maybe Overlord should’ve killed you. He should’ve snapped you in half, and if the sight would have delighted him into a good mood, it would even be painless, quick. Yet instead, he decided that you were worth more than that. This cat wanted to play with his food. Wanted to hear it sing. And so he performed a massacre and took you with him.

At least it spared Chromedome the pain of having Rewind aboard the compartment with Overlord. Instead, he had you. And ever since then you've been drifting, deeper and deeper into darkness. Swallowed by the void of space, where nothing seems to glow brighter than his optics.

IV. You continued telling him stories. It became the only thing you knew how to do, rather than the only thing that kept you alive. You were now at an abandoned spaceport, where your captor sought temporary refuge. It conveniently hovered above the organic civilization living below on Saturn. He jokes about colonizing them, yet you didn't laugh, quietly staring at the man Overlord just squished under his foot. He must've been a routine worker sent to check the premises. He could have alerted the planet below. And could've called for help.

Bile was rising into the back of your throat.

Maybe he came with a friend. Or maybe Overlord had their way with them already. As you silently wept, you turned the other way — opting to blankly stare past the window. You can see his reflection approaching, the metal beneath you tremble with each step.

" What did I say about your crying?" He crooned, a digit forcefully dragging your chin upwards. You tried to be defiant, to puff out your cheeks and stop your lips from trembling. Yet there was blood on his armor, sprayed across his face. And now there were some on your cheek, wet and sticky, enough to make the tears fall faster.

Then, amid the silence that has crowded the room, between the background hums and noises coming from the machine arose the subtle, clicking noise of a cooling fan. He pushed the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip, the red shade of his optics burning into a deep shade of garnet.

" Look at me when you cry," He commanded, " I want to see it."

V. You told him a story of the Roman titan who devoured his sons one by one — afraid they’d overthrow him. Eat or be eaten, was that what Megatron thought when he installed a killswitch in his head? You hoped this would flatter him. It did. A little too much.

VI. You usually don't talk when he's inside of you. When his spike is stretching you almost too painfully, you never make conversation, it is always the sound of your shallow breathing and his indulgent moaning, mingling together in the air. He didn't force you, no. A part of you had wanted this. Out of sheer fear or stress, you're not sure.

Either way, it's safe to say that Overlord doesn't want you dead anytime soon. Yet he's starting to get bored. Or rather, tired, of wanting. Of fighting this internal disgust in himself for ever thinking of having you like this: underneath him, writhing and struggling to have him all the way to the hilt. He has always been more glutton than prideful. And so here you two were, with his mass displaced yet hands still big enough to cover the expanse of your back — thumbs draped against your nipples. Squeezing, circling. His optics leered at the hickeys and bruises loitering your skin. He has a fascination with how they turn purple and bleed red, sometimes blooming into blue before fading. You tell him as long as he's gentle enough not to break anything, he's more than welcome to have you like this.

As insatiable as he is, that was enough for him.

" If I had known...organics were this pliant. I would have gotten myself a plaything eons ago."

He roughly snapped his hips upwards, dragging you against the berth.

" Sing for me."

Nothing made sense anymore. Not when he has you by the talons like a wild animal, hunched over to devour its prey. Atoms would condense and cluster and sink onto your skin, crowding you with heat from the brutal pace he's setting. You're afraid he'd snap your hip as he hikes up your right leg. Angling you, using you, to his pleasure. And there is pleasure out of this for you too, molten liquid tightening around your abdomen. So you indulge him. He likes seeing you cry, and so you did. Begging, whining — which only causes him to hold you closer to his chassis. The thrum of his spark against you is loud enough to send you into a headache.

It's too much. You wanted to say. But you know it's futile. So as you reached your high — spent and overstimulated from this newfound obsession of his — you could do nothing but brace yourself for the rush of trans fluid spilling down your legs. Your cunt, sore and aching as he finally pulls away.

He says you're funner this way. That's the closest thing you'll get to a sunrise.

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darksaiyangoku · 1 month

Text

RWBY Witcher Tales

—The Seventh Paladin—

It was a cool morning in the Kingdom of Céline and outside of a small cottage was a young, blonde-haired boy named Jaune Arc. In his hands, he he held a long stick and came face to face with his opponent; a crudely made dummy of rags and straw. Jaune circled the dummy and delivered several hacks and whacks to it.

Jaune: Hah! Hiyahh! Hah!

Jaune was channeling every ounce of strength into each attack, smirking as he saw bits of straw fall to the ground. With a deep breath, he held the stick up high and smacked the "head" of the dummy with tremendous force, tearing it off.

Jaune: *pants*...maybe I overdid it a little. *chuckles*

The sound of trotting hooves alerted him to a nearby horse and cart. The driver, an elderly man named Barry, arrived on the road to pick up Jaune for work.

Barry: Still messin' around with that stick, young man?

Jaune: It's called 'training', Barry.

Barry: *chuckles* Oh Jaune, I thought you would've learned by now that your trainin' is worth dirt. No commoner in the history of Céline has ever rose to the rank of knight.

Jaune: *smiles* Then I'll be the first! Prince Carson is holding a competition to find worthy candidates and I'm gonna beat every single one of them!

Barry: *laughs* You'd have a better chance of findin' lost Elven treasures than beating a noble! Stop dawdlin' and get on the cart, you'll be late!

Jaune tossed the stick onto the dirt and jumped onto the cart. As Barry rode off, Jaune looked at the bright blue sky as he tried to cheer his spirits. No one ever took his ambition of being a knight seriously, as the only ones who were eligible were the children from the noble class. When he was younger, Jaune used to read fairy tales of simple folk who would accomplish great deeds, like fighting dragons, saving people and becoming heroes. He'd imagine himself in those stories and was desperate to show that they were possible. That a common boy could be something more.

Jaune: *whispers* Just you wait. I'll show all of you and become the greatest knight in all of Remnant!

[Kingdom of Céline - Claremont]

Claremont was a tailor shop located in the city of Céline, owned by Robert Claremont. He was a white-haired man of middle age, yet had the spirit of a youth. He could work on 10 or 15 clothes a day, and they would come out absolutely pristine! Jaune had been his apprentice since he was 10 years old and while he wasn't at Robert's skill level, he was showing good signs of improvement. Today was especially busy and Jaune was sweating from the workload. His eyes strained as he tried to focus on the last stitch of a green tunic.

Robert: Are you alright there, Jaune?

Jaune: Yep! Just gotta finish this... almost there... got it!

Jaune stood up and inspected the tunic, making sure everything looked good. It wasn't the fanciest of clothes but he was happy with his work and wanted to make sure the customer felt comfortable.

Robert: Not bad, my boy. I'm sure the customer will appreciate it. He'll be arriving today. Make sure you have your chin up, we have a lot more orders to complete.

Jaune: Yes sir!

Throughout the day, Jaune was hard at work measuring, cutting and sewing, nearly pricking his fingers a few times. One by one, the clothes were flying into the hands of satisfied customers. Soon, the last 5 minutes of work time was approaching and Robert was about to close up the shop. However, he was stopped when someone placed his foot between the door. Robert raised his eyebrow in confusion and remained calm as he tried to shoo the unruly stranger away.

Robert: *ahem* I'm sorry, but we are about to close now. You're free to visit on Monday morning, now please remove your foot from my door.

Stranger: I'm just here to collect my order. It won't take long at all. Please?

Robert: I- oh alright, but make it quick.

The stranger opened the door and stepped inside. Jaune's face turned pink as soon as he saw her. She had messy, white-blond hair and wore an ashen black leather corset, a tight green shirt, ripped black trousers and long, cream-coloured leather boots. On her back, she carried two shortswords, a bow and a quiver of arrows. Two features stuck out to Jaune the most; a pair of violet, cat-like eyes and a silver-coloured medallion in the shape of an eagle's head.

Jaune: *blushes* U-Uh um *ahem* D-Do you have y-your ticket, ma'am?

Stranger: Right here, darling. *shows ticket*

Jaune hurried to the back room and returned holding a crystal white sleeveless dress.

Jaune: I-I hope it's to your s-satisfaction, Mademoiselle.

The Stranger glanced at it and picked it up. She gave Jaune a satisfying smirk and bowed her head to him and Robert before departing. Jaune leaned over the counter, still smiling from ear to ear.

Jaune: Wow.

Robert: I wouldn't get too attached with the likes of her, Jaune.

Jaune: Hm? Why not? She seemed nice.

Robert: If you knew the line of work she does, you'd stay far away from her as possible. But enough about that, you did very well today. *smiles* Good work. Here you go, *tosses purse* your month's pay.

Jaune's hands nearly fell to the floor as he caught the purse. It was quite heavy. He slowly opened the bag and his eyes gleamed. Inside were 150 silver lien coins.

Jaune: My god! M-Maître Robert, this is way too much. I-I can't accept-

Robert: *chuckles* It's perfectly fine. You've come a long way these past two years and I am proud to have you as my apprentice. You've earned this coin. Take it.

Jaune was in awe and rushed over to hug his Master. Bidding goodbye, he left the shop and strapped the purse on his belt. Jaune walked with a skip in his step, not caring about who looked at him. But the further he walked, his happiness started to fade. He stopped in the middle of the street as the image of the silver lien pieces burned into his memory. It was a lot of money and Jaune knew that if he kept improving, he could make enough for his family and support them alongside his two older sister's jobs. But what would that mean for his desire to be a knight? Should he just give up? Stick something more normal and safe?

WHACK!

Suddenly, Jaune was knocked over as a sharp pain hit his back. He stumbled across the floor and his purse tore from his belt, the silver flying everywhere.

Jaune: *grunts* Agh! Ow!

Jaune looked up and glimpsed at his attackers. His eyes shrank as he recognised Cardin Winchester, son of the Bishop of Céline. Surrounding him were his friends, Dove Bronzewing, Skye Lark and Russel Thrush. Each of them bore an emblem of a golden cross that was crudely sewn onto their chests.

Cardin: Well, well, well. That's a lot of coin there, Arc. Now where would a commoner like you find such treasure?

Jaune: *pants* Agh... it's mine... I... earned from my job...

Cardin: *snorts* Why would a tailor waste his good fortune on someone like you? In fact, this *takes purse* should be donated to those who rightfully deserve it. The Eternal Fire thanks you for your contribution.

Jaune: Hey give that back!

Jaune sprang up and tried to grab his purse, only to be kicked in the stomach by Skye and Dove. He doubled over and fell to his knees and Cardin laughed sadistically.

Cardin: Oh give it up. You've been weak as a lamb ever since we were little and even if you could beat me, your ass would be sent straight to prison along with the rest of your family.

Skye and Dove held Jaune's arms while Cardin and Russel started punching and kicking him. He tried to escape, but the grip was too tight. His face and body stung with intense pain. Cardin was about to deliver the finishing blow when a hand gripped him tight and pulled him away.

Cardin: Hey! What do you think you're-

Cardin backed away in a rare moment of fear as he saw who interfered. Jaune gasped as he recognised the woman who purchased the dress from his shop.

Cardin: W-We need to run. Now!

Russel: What? But-

Cardin: Do as I say! If we stay here, she'll place a curse on us!

Skye and Dove dropped Jaune to the ground and followed Cardin and Russel as they ran away screaming. Jaune coughed and wheezed, still feeling the injuries dealt to him. The Stranger offered her hand and lifted him back up.

Stranger: Are you okay, darling?

Jaune: Agh! A-A little. T-Thank you, Madamoiselle.

Stranger: It's no trouhle and please, call me Robyn.

Jaune: O-Oh. Well thank you, Robyn. I'm Jaune. Jaune Arc.

Robyn: Nice to meet you. Who were those boys ans what was their problem with you?

Jaune: Ugh, they're Cardin Winchester and his little gang called 'The Eternal Fire'. They like to cause trouble for all the kids here, but especially nonhumans. Lately, I've been their favourite target. Why? I have no idea.

Robyn: Kids can be pretty cruel. What's stopping you from fighting back?

Jaune: *sighs* Even if I wanted to, I'd just get into trouble. They're all sons of nobles and if I defend myself, I'll be the one blamed for everything.

Robyn: Hmmm, I see. Tell you what, why don't I get you cleaned up and give you a hot meal?

Jaune: Wha-? I-I don't-

Robyn: *ruffles Jaune's hair* It's absolutely fine. After what you've been through, you could use some cheering up.

[Reynard Tavern]

Inside Reynard Tavern, Robyn chuckled as she watched Jaune devour a plate of sausages and baked potatoes.

Jaune: *munches* Ow!

Robyn: You might want to slow down a little. You haven't even healed yet from the beating.

Jaune: *feeble laugh* Sorry. I guess I was a little hungry.

Robyn: Clearly.

Jaune: *mouthful* Sho waz za dreff fo?

Robyn: ...

Jaune: *gulps* I meant to ask what the dress was for? Are you going to Prince Charles' banquet?

Robyn: Oh I wish. No, I have a mission to take care of that involves me looking my best.

Jaune: Hm? What is it?

Robyn: *chuckles* Nothing to worry yourself with. *ruffles his hair*

Jaune: Hmph. *small pout*

Robyn: So tell me, Jaune, what's it like working for a renowned tailor like Robert Claremont? He doesn't let just anyone work for him.

Jaune: Well he and my father used to go to the same school when they were children and, on my 12th birthday, it was decided that I'd become his apprentice as a favour. I wasn't sure at first, but I grew to like it. We get to meet so many interesting customers. Some of them local and some of them from other parts of Remnanf.

Robyn: That's wonderful to hear. I bet your family must be proud.

Jaune: Yeah I guess, but... being a tailor isn't really what I dream of.

Robyn: Hm? Then what is?

Jaune: I want to be a knight. A hero to defend my kingdom! Riding on horseback in shining armour! Brandising a sword at my side! Earning the glory of the kingdom!

Robyn: So you want fame and fortune? Not very chivalrous.

Jaune: Hey, it isn't about that! I just... I wanna prove to everyone that a commoner can be jusf as worthy as a noble to don armour. *clenches fist* That blood and status don't determine success.

Robyn: Hmmmm, I see. That does sound admirable and I do agree with you. Blood and status mean absolutely nothing. It's a flawed system designed to cause mistrust and anger among us all. *taps table* But first thing's first, do you even know how to use a sword?

Jaune: Um, I do practice a lot every morning before I go to work. I don't have a waster, but I use a stick.

Robyn: And do you practice with anyone at all?

Jaune: *shakes head* The things I know about sword fighting were from old books. The stances, the techniques, everything.

Robyn; I won't lie to you, you won't have a chance at joining the knights.

Jaune: ...o-oh. *hangs head*

Robyn; Which is why I'll train you myself.

Jaune: *looks up* What? Really?

Robyn: Of course. If you are serious about this and willing to put in the work, then I'll train you.

Jaune: Thank you so much! *grins*

Robyn: *raises hand* Don't expect this to be an easy ride, however. It will be gruelling. You will be beaten, bruised and bloodied almost daily. We'll treat our sparring sessions as real fights. Can you handle that?

Jaune: *nods head* Yes Robyn! I won't let you down!

Robyn; *smiles* Good. We'll start tomorrow. *leaves table* Bonne nuit.

Jaune waved goodbye as she left the tavern. His eyes sparkled with elation. For the first time in his life, someone didn't mock his ambition and was actually going out of their way to help him achieve it. He smiled again and made a vow not to let Robyn down.

[Arc Cottage Field]

Jaune yelled out as he was forced to the ground from Robyn's waster. His face, arms and legs were covered with bright red bruises and his lungs were burning fiercely. Robyn stood over him playing with her waster.

Robyn: I think it's time we took a break.

Jaune: *wheezing* No... I... can still... carry... on...

Robyn: Jaune, we're stopping here. You're tiring yourself out and that's dangerous. Your enemies will take advantage of that and kill you. So let's take a break.

Jaune: *groans* Fine.

Jaune and Robyn sat by a tree and she pulled out a small, glass bottle filled with light blue liquid. She gently poured some of it over Jaune's wounds, making him grit his teeth as it stung.

Robyn: I know it hurts, but you have to bear it. This medicine will help and you'll be fighting fit in no time.

Jaune: What is this thing?

Robyn: It's called Sunshine. It's a mild form of potion designed for healing.

Jaune: *winces*This is mild?

Robyn: Compared to the other potions I have. If you took those, you'd be in big trouble.

Jaune: *chuckles* I have to say, you're much nicer compared to what everyone says about Witchers.

Robyn: *raises eyebrow* I don't seem to recall mentioning I was a Witcher.

Jaune: Well you're not exactly hiding it. Aside from your eyes, your medallion is giveaway.

Robyn: *laughs* I suppose I haven't done a good job of blending in. I am curious that you never mentioned anything until now, though.

Jaune: That's because I wanted to see if any of the rumours were true and so far, you're not living up to them at all. You saved from Cardin, bought me a hot meal and are even going out of your way to train me. I'd say you're a good person.

Robyn: *smiles* You're a kind boy, Jaune. Never lose that. How are your wounds?

Jaune: They should be healing up soon.

Robyn: Excellent! Although since you know I'm a Witcher, I'm going to take this up a notch. *taps waster in her hand*

Jaune: Ehehe, you're joking... right?

[6 Months Later]

For many days and nights, Jaune trained hard. His body had seen a slight growth in height and muscle, he was more agile and his technique was more focused. Today was the last day of summer and many of the citizens were invited to Prince Charles' castle for a banquet. No matter their social status, everyone eas welcome be they peasant or noble. The Arc Family gathered with everyone in the courtyard and clapped along as Noir and Blanc, the youngest twins, joined the dance circle.

Saphron: Whooo!!! Go Noir!

Rouge: Show them how it's done, Blanc!

Verte: Hey Jaune, why don't you join in? Who knows, you meet even find a lucky lady. *winks*

Jaune: Wha- Verte! *blushes* Th-That's not why I'm here!

Rouge: Yeah, yeah, you're here for the swordfighting contest. Try to lighten up a little, we're just having fun.

Jaune: Hmph!

As the morning turned to evening, the main event was about to be begin. Arriving in the courtyard was the young man himself, Prince Charles of Celiné. He had ashen black hair with a large, cyan streak at the front, emerald green eyes and wore a long, white linen tunic that stunned the crowd. Beside him was his best friend and leader of his Six Paladins, Orlando Lima. He was tall and green-haired, with brown eyes and wore lightweight green armour. Charles turned around to see his audience as they bowed to him. After a few minutes of speeches, it was time for contest to commence. However, this was no ordinary contest, as Charles had made an interesting addition to the rules. The winner would be offered an official membership into the Paladins. Within the crowd, Jaune soon became nervous. There was no way he could compete with the other swordsmen, he had only trained for six months. One by one, many of the compeitors had been defeated and standing victorious was his old enemy; Cardin. Jaune was about to turn away until his brothers blacked his path.

Blanc: Come on, big brother! Go!

Noir: Yeah! You got this!

Jaune: Hold on, I- gwagh!

Jaune was pushed into the centre where he came face to face with Cardin, who laughed mockingly..

Cardin: Oh this is too perfect! The Eternal Fire has blessed me with victory if he sent you as my challenger.

Jaune: L-Listen Cardin, I-

Cardin: Don't worry, Arc. I'll make this quick as to not humilate you. Haaaaah!!! *runs*

Cardin raised his waster high into the air and tried a downwad slash. Without even thinking, Jaune parried the incoming attack and elbowed him in the chest, staggering him. For a moment, Cardin was in shock but quickly regained is composure as he resumed his attacks. Jaune dodged each one with graceful agility and thwacked him from behind. The crowd gaped in excitement and intrigue, as did Charles and Orlando. Cardin, however, was gerting angrier and carelessly thrashed around. Jaune blocked and countered each strike and landed several blows across Cardin's stomach, arms, shins and his face. Cardin reached his limit and yelled as tried to thrust, only to be kicked to the ground as Jaune disarmed him. He couldn't believe it. He had lost. Jaune put his waster back in its sheath and bowed his head to the Prince.

Charles: *claps* Marvellous! Absolutely marvellous!

Jaune: Thank you, Your Highness.

Charles: What's your name?

Jaune: It's Jaune. Fourth child of the Arc family and the first son.

Charles: Hm. I don't think I've heard of the Arc family before.

Jaune: *chuckles nervously*We're not exactly famous. We're a common family with jobs like servers or tailors.

Orlando: And yet your technique with a sword was impressive. You must have had an excellent teacher.

Jaune: You could say that.

Charles: *smiles* Well now since there's no more challengers, I declare Jaune Arc as the winner!

Jaune: Excuse me?! Y-You mean I get to be one of your Paladins?

Charles: *nods head*

Cardin: What?! *gets up* Your Highness, I demand that he be disqualified from this contest! He had no right to join this contest in the first place! He's not of noble blood!

Orlando: Now, now settle down. The contest was open for everyone to compete in. Status doesn't matter at all.

Charles: And Jaune won fair and square. As such, he will be a squire for the Paladins. *turns to Jaune* Do you accept?

Jaune: *bows* Yes, Your Highness!

The room erupted with applause and Jaune's face turned rose red with embarrassment. But the loudest shouts and claps came from his family. He had done them proud. Amidst the cheering was a violet-eyed woman in a hooded cloak, smiling proudly. History was made that day; the day when the Seventh Paladin had arrived.

#rwby #rwby au #rwby fanon #the witcher #fairy tales #legends #jaune arc #robyn hill #team crdl #cardin winchester #russel thrush #skye lark #dove bronzewing #rwby oc #robert claremont #orlando lima #charlemagne #joan of arc

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